


Up in Flames

by Grotesgi



Series: Ashes [2]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Mech Preg (Transformers), Other, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 77,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27507532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grotesgi/pseuds/Grotesgi
Summary: Sunstreaker spun around on his heel, taking steps backwards—never once halting in his retreat from the Autobots. “I spread my legs for yournemesis,Optimus,” he said,loud and clear.“I let him ‘face me into the fraggingdirt.I got sparked, although that much was an accident, but I didn’t tell anyone. I lied about it to everyone—I lied toyourface. I lied to Ratchet.“I lied to thebitter end,Prime.” He could feel Megatron’s field at his back, thick, oily, triumphant,welcoming.Sunstreaker spread his arms as he took that last step to hislover’sside. “Would you accept someone likeme?”
Relationships: Megatron/Sideswipe (Transformers), Megatron/Sunstreaker (Transformers), Sideswipe & Sunstreaker (Transformers)
Series: Ashes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2009359
Comments: 202
Kudos: 91





	1. Embers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The full context of this fic will be missing if you don't read Part 1 first, so I suggest you do that if you haven't yet!

They didn’t say a word as they sat in Astrotrain’s hold. Not that there would’ve been anyone to talk with, aside from each other. And while Sideswipe fidgeted, disquieted… Even he didn’t start jabbering like he usually would.

Sunstreaker couldn’t exactly blame him. Things had gone… _So_ wrong, so fast. As much as he’d known there would be _consequences,_ sooner or later, and as much as he’d expected those consequences would directly involve Megatron… Pits, this still managed to go beyond what his imagination had managed to cook up. Having everything aired in front of practically all of the Autobots on Earth, that was a _bit_ much. 

The shock hadn’t worn off yet, that much he was sure of. Reality hadn’t sunk in yet, no matter how much they were surrounded by a Decepticon signature, with no Autobots anywhere to be found.

Well, it would hit them eventually, and it’d likely feel rather unpleasant.

On waiting for that… What would they do from here on out? Besides living among the Decepticons for the foreseeable future.

What should they expect out of _that?_

They didn’t know a hell of a lot about the Decepticons’ daily life, having never been ones, but there were always rumors. Rumors about violent discipline, frequent infighting, vocal arguments, all encompassing cruelty—all the things Autobots abhorred, bundled into the purple faction.

Why had that always sounded so painfully _familiar?_

Decepticons originated from Kaon. The twins originated from Kaon. Did that mean something? Would they find a mindset they knew so intimately, that the Autobots had never gotten? The one they’d never managed to shake off, despite having spent the entirety of the war under the Prime’s banner?

Or was that just wishful thinking?

They were about to find out. They could feel Astrotrain descending, no doubt arriving to where the Victory had crashed and sunk into the ocean.

“Hop out so I can transform,” Astrotrain said, opening his hatch. He didn’t stop moving, probably because he _couldn’t—_ they’d never seen him hover in place.

But they could see the platform risen from the sea. And jumping off moving objects… Not like they were exactly unfamiliar with that. It was an easy thing to calculate Astrotrain’s speed and the distance to the platform, and the moment when they would need to jump to land on it.

Piece of cake. They jumped, and for a moment there was nothing beneath their pedes—something they should’ve been uncomfortable with, as _grounders,_ but just _weren’t._

Never had been, for that matter.

Then metal clanged under them as they fell on it. Astrotrain continued on for a bit before looping back around to make his own approach. Megatron and the few Seekers with him similarly landed around them.

And they weren’t used to feeling small, having been among the tallest Autobots, but slag, they were feeling like short stuff now. Megatron was massive, of course, and while the Seekers weren’t _as_ tall, they were still plenty taller than the brothers.

Then Astrotrain landed as well, and the triplechanger didn’t make them feel _any_ bigger.

They’d probably need to get used to this now, though. Decepticons as a whole were just _larger._

But then again, their predicament in Kaon had been the same. What was this but a return to the old?

Megatron gestured them onto the elevator, joined them with two Seekers, and then they began their descent into the ship itself. It wasn’t _as_ long of a ride down as they’d expected, but still plenty long enough. The elevator shaft was barely illuminated by small lights along its walls, chasing each other up the walls as the platform steadily lowered. No one said anything, and the silence was… A bit awkward. The Seekers were flicking or fanning their wings every few moments, expressive as ever in responding to the mood of the situation.

A bit nervous, right now.

Megatron, though? He appeared completely unaffected by everything going on around him, only standing there _oozing_ confidence. It practically pooled at his feet.

_Typical._

It was a relief when the elevator came to a stop at the bottom, opening to an airlock. Megatron led the way, the twins after, and the Seekers behind them... But they’d barely taken two steps out of the airlock and into the ship’s interior before Megatron stopped and turned to face them. 

The brothers stared back at him with matching expressions of distrust.

“You won’t need _these_ anymore,” Megatron said, and before either brother had managed to puzzle what _‘these’_ he meant–

–Megatron had already leaned down and sunk his claw into Sunstreaker’s chestplates—at one corner of his _Autobot_ insignia. Sunstreaker didn’t have time to do more than rev his engine in affront and alarm before Megatron had _dragged_ his claw straight through the painted Autobrand, digging a deep groove across it.

Sunstreaker stumbled back seconds too late, one his servos rising to his chassis—but the damage was already well done. When he looked down he couldn’t see more than an ugly wound ruining the insignia of his…

Ah. _Former_ faction, wasn’t it? Apparently Megatron wanted _visible_ proof of their defection. 

Wouldn’t it have been enough to replace their insignias with the Decepticon one, seriously? Sunstreaker couldn’t say he particularly appreciated the damage his armor had now sported.

“Don’t you slagging–! Oh, _frag you,”_ Sideswipe snarled when he _tried_ to get out of Megatron’s reach, only to get grabbed by the back of his neck. The _scratch_ was repeated on him despite his squirming.

Jagged, torn, _ugly_ —and yet so intentional in appearance that there was little mistaking what it stood for.

Sunstreaker huffed as Sideswipe rubbed his servo across his sore plating, doing little more than aggravating the area further. Alright. So this was a _great_ start to things. 

But Megatron was satisfied with that. “Come,” he ordered them with a flick of his digits, setting down one of the hallways branching from the area in front of the airlock, “Your quarters have been prepared.”

“You were expecting us or something?” Sideswipe asked as they followed the tyrant, just because they didn’t really have anything better to do. Besides, it would be nice to see their new _living arrangements._

“You were always going to join me, after Sunstreaker’s ignition,” Megatron responded simply.

Sunstreaker growled, but Megatron glanced at him and continued, _“One way or another.”_

And… That was a threat if he’d ever heard one. He could likely conclude he was right in expecting Megatron would have dragged him to the Decepticons even if he’d tried to go Neutral—and that his only hope to _not_ end up here would have been to stay with the Autobots.

But that wasn’t much of an option. 

Sunstreaker dedicated himself to sullen silence.

As with the Ark, the Victory was wonderfully _tilted._ Not so much it would have made living on it impossible, but _enough,_ so at least that much hadn’t changed. That was about where the similarities ended, though. The Ark was brightly lit and garishly, _cheerfully_ orange from floor to ceiling. 

The Victory’s lights were dim and its color scheme violets and greys. End result was that instead of appearing welcoming, somewhere you might actually want to _be,_ it was just foreboding and gloomy. 

Not very uplifting. At all.

Somehow it fit the Decepticons, though.

They traveled down several ramps, Megatron’s heavy pedesteps shaking the deck on every step, but surprisingly he didn’t go so fast the twins would’ve had an inordinate amount of trouble keeping up with him. Oh, they still got to walk real fast after his significantly longer stride, but it never got to the point where they would have outright needed to jog.

But Sunstreaker doubted that was thoughtfulness on Megatron’s part, rather just… A continuation of his image of control. He was in no rush, because he owned the place and nothing and no one could threaten him.

Or something like that. Frag if he knew what went on inside despots’ helms. 

The brothers did make an effort to start building an internal map of the Victory’s layout as they went. That wasn’t too easy because everything looked the fragging _same,_ but that was a fault in the Ark too. They’d get the hang of the place still.

Eventually.

But one particular corridor in what they assumed was the lower portions of the ship looked like it was lined with living quarters. At least, Megatron stopped at one of the evenly spaced doors and triggered it to open. He gestured for the twins to have a look and enter.

They did, a bit cautiously.

The room was nearly half of the size of their quarters on the Ark, but then again their quarters back on the Ark were meant for four mecha even if they hadn’t needed to room with anyone.

It looked like these were for two mecha only. There was a bunk berth at the back wall, a desk with a lonely chair next to the door, and drawers to what he assumed were subspace containers embedded on one wall, and… That was it.

But it was honestly more than he’d expected, all things considered. A perfectly well furnished room, as far as military standards went—even those of the Autobots’.

“The bunk folds into a double berth, if you’d prefer,” Megatron said. The brothers glanced at him in surprise, but the tyrant was already turning to leave. “Make yourselves at home.”

And then he just _left._ The door closed behind him, leaving them standing alone in their new home. Sideswipe blinked and Sunstreaker echoed his surprise at… What? What had they expected would happen? Something bad? 

Honestly, yeah. He wasn’t sure what kind of bad, but something bad nevertheless.

This… This wasn’t so bad.

Sideswipe went to poke around the drawers while Sunstreaker considered the desk, the berth, and the room in general. It was as dimly lit and depressing as the rest of the ship they’d seen so far, a bit claustrophobia inducing… But it could be _worse._ It was private, if nothing else. Oh, he wouldn’t trust there weren’t cameras or mics around, but at least they could _pretend_ to be out of sight.

“Should we fold the berth?” Sideswipe asked, turning away from the drawers after he’d deemed them uninteresting. They weren’t yet ready to place their stuff in them and around the place to make it look a little more lived in. They weren’t _that_ at home. 

But the berth… Sunstreaker nodded after a brief moment’s consideration. They had no _need_ to recharge next to each other, and hadn’t on more than occasion for a long time, but in these circumstances… That might still be a greater comfort.

They stepped over to the bunk and inspected how it worked. After a bit of trial and effort they managed to unlock it and lowered the top one next to the bottom one, and locked it in place there. Smooth going.

There was a bit less space in the room afterwards, but all in all it wasn’t too bad. 

...Then what? He doubted they’d be allowed to just _wander around,_ but Sideswipe went to test the door anyway–

–And found it wasn’t locked. It opened for him.

The brothers shared a look of surprise before Sideswipe stepped into the hallway, scanning it up and down.

There was no one around. Maybe in some of the other rooms, but not in the hallway itself. No guards or anything of the like.

They weren’t in the brig, but he wouldn’t have still put some sort of _chaperons_ past Megatron.

Should they go? There wasn’t much for them to do here. They weren’t in need of recharge anytime soon, and he wasn’t even sure if the Decepticons followed the Earth’s passage of time or if they still functioned by Cybertronian measures. They might not go to recharge as a whole even when the planet’s sun set.

How else would they find answers to questions like that except by going out to look for someone who might be willing to entertain their curiosities? And since they _could_ do that…

Why the frag not? It would also have the use of helping them familiarize themselves with the ship.

Of course, they might not find their way back to their room if they went too far and took too many turns, but eh. They’d worry about that when they got there.

After sharing a nod, they filed back out and went back the way they’d come. Where to? Really, anywhere would work at this point. Maybe they’d find the rec room, or the medbay, or the command center, or… The ship had to have a training room of some sort too. What else? Labs? Offices? Those weren’t of quite as great interest.

They decided to go up, first, and climbed two ramps before they stopped. Voices floated down one corridor, and that was the one they took out of simple curiosity to see what was happening. 

There was a gaggle of Seekers standing in front of one doorway, that, after a glance in, appeared to lead to some sort of recreational room. They wouldn’t have fit to squeeze past the Seekers to get to the doors even if they’d wanted to, though.

Skywarp took notice of them as they approached and waved cheerfully. “Twins! Mechs, I’m _so_ disappointed I missed Megatron picking you up. I heard it was fragging _awesome!”_

And indeed on a second look, two of the Seekers in the group had accompanied Megatron on that particular trip.

Apparently some _gossiping_ was happening. 

Sunstreaker scowled and Sideswipe rubbed the back of his neck, but Skywarp didn’t take any notice of their discomfort. “The way you left the ‘Bots, Sunstreaker! Slagging _epic_ to own up to the whole thing like that. You’ve got some real guts on you, mech.”

Well. At least he was getting compliments. 

“Megatron showed you to your quarters?” another Seeker asked. Sunstreaker had _no idea_ what their designation was, but he’d probably slagged them a few times. 

You know, because he’d slagged really all of the ‘Cons on one occasion or other.

“Yeah, told to make ourselves at home. We were, uh… A little surprised we could just walk out after,” Sideswipe answered, finishing off with a shrug.

Skywarp laughed, more than a little surprised—disbelieving? Over what?

It became clear in the next moment. “You’re ‘Cons now!” he argued. “Of course you can go anywhere you want, just the same as everyone else.” He sounded like he really meant that, or took it for granted, or…

Slag, was this just Skywarp being his usual idiotic self, or did the lot of them really plan to let them waltz around the place?

But the other Seekers nodded along, so maybe it wasn’t just Skywarp. 

“Oh,” Sideswipe said, very, very smartly, but that just… Wasn’t at all what they’d expected. Did they have _any_ trust at all in their loyalties, after how they’d ‘defected’? Because if they did, then they were dumb as bricks.

“You don’t know the ship yet though, do you?” Skywarp spoke up again. Sideswipe shook his helm, but before he managed a word in, Skywarp had already continued, “Ohhh you’ll probably get lost a lot! I’ll give you a proper tour of the whole place later, okay?”

“As if you don’t get lost half the time yourself, ‘Warp,” one of the Seekers teased, eliciting some laughter from the group. Even Sideswipe twitched a smile when Skywarp’s wings shot up in offense.

“Everything looks the same, alright?!” he exclaimed. Sideswipe laughed along with the rest of them this time, not that he could really argue with that sentiment.

Skywarp shook it off quickly, though. “Ugh. Anyway, you wanna hang out with us in the rec room for the evening? I can show you back to your quarters after so you don’t get lost.”

Did they have anything better to do, really?

“Sure, why not,” Sideswipe agreed.

It couldn’t possibly continue this _pleasant_ for long, but pits, they’d take the good times before the bad.


	2. Come and Take Her Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I must confess  
>  I'm addicted to this  
> Shove your kiss straight through my chest  
> I can't deny, I'd die without this  
> Make me feel like a god  
> Music, love and sex  
> (Adrenalize me)_
> 
> — In This Moment - Adrenalize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dubcon!

Skywarp did make sure they made it back to their quarters after a surprisingly pleasant evening of games and bad movies.

Earth movies. That surprised them more than a little. With the way the ‘Cons talked, you’d have thought they’d hate all parts of Earth, or that Megatron, at the very least, would ban all Earth things for the sake of banning them. 

But no, it looked like they rather freely used the entertainment on offer. On a second thought it made _some_ sense, because there wasn’t much else available.

And admittedly the jeers aimed at the organics in the movies had been more than a little savage. Optimus would have never allowed the kind of talk the Seekers had thrown around freely.

Optimus wasn’t here, though. So… They could’ve joined in without anyone getting on their afts about it, and Sideswipe did laugh at a lot of the things that were said.

But _Autobot manners_ had dug themselves deep and they could scarcely allow themselves to have negative thoughts about the humans on the screen. If they thought about how much they didn’t like the organics for the sole reason of them being so incredibly _organic…_ Well, Optimus would have had even more talks with them than he’d already had.

That was in the past now though, _wasn’t it?_ Even if Megatron had _let_ them—and that wasn’t going to happen—how the pit were they supposed to ever go back to the Autobots? After everything they’d done? After everything _Sunstreaker_ had done?

Maybe they should try to _move on,_ instead. Give up on the Autobot pretenses… 

_Could they do that?_

Not yet, that was for sure. Everything was too fresh and the corridors of the Victory still felt so… _Surreal._ Like looking at a painting that didn’t make sense. They were so badly displaced that it was impossible to not feel out of their depth, even though the Seekers really hadn’t been anything… _Out there._ They were mecha like any other, chatting and talking, laughing. Making fun of things.

They weren’t _Autobot_ and it was impossible to mistake them for being _Autobot_ with the things that came out of their vocalizers, but slag, just how big was the divide between the two factions their species had broken into?

Was it _as_ big as everyone liked to make it?

Because it hadn’t felt that different from nights spent in the Ark’s rec room.

It was a lot to compartmentalize after Skywarp said his good nights and skipped down the hall. Sideswipe went straight to their berth faceplanted onto it, _groaning_ into its surface. Sunstreaker could feel his brother’s processors practically cooking from the conflict of _expectations_ versus what _reality_ had been so far.

 _So far._ These were the _‘Cons,_ and he fragging well wasn’t going to trust there wouldn’t be unpleasant things coming for them down the line. More than just Megatron clawing their insignias for them. 

He sat down next to Sideswipe and his brother turned his helm to the side enough to peer up at him. “So… Skywarp seems nice.”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“And the other Seekers weren’t so bad either. Although they never introduced themselves. Huh.”

He didn’t get a chance to answer because there was a ping at their door. It was more of an announcement to someone’s presence instead of a request to come in, because the door swept aside almost immediately.

Megatron.

_Who else?_

“You haven’t heard of _knocking?”_ Sunstreaker scowled. Sideswipe turned around and pushed himself to sitting.

“You’ll do well to remember it’s _my_ ship,” Megatron rumbled as he stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. He utterly _dominated_ the already small space, and right then Sunstreaker didn’t really feel like sitting anymore.

So he stood up. Not that it did him a hell of a lot of good when Megatron still towered over him. He craned his neck and glared up at the tyrant, who met his optics _annoyingly_ neutrally. 

Like Sunstreaker wasn’t a _threat_ of any kind to him.

But that wasn’t true, was it?

Before he could decide on what manner of pain he would deliver on the warlord, though, Megatron had moved to the reason for his visit. “We should discuss my expectations of you while you’re carrying.”

 _Ugh._ Seriously? “What slagging _expectations_ can you even have? It’s _my_ fragging life,” Sunstreaker snarled.

Megatron wasn’t impressed and returned his glare. “That presently involves _my_ sparkling.”

Not untrue, but slag him if he was going to let that affect a damn thing. It hadn’t stopped being _his_ life just because he _happened_ to be carrying. “So, what?” Sunstreaker snapped accordingly, “You want to turn me into a helpless carrier just that sits pretty until the sparkling’s separated?” To keep it safe from harm or some slag like that? _”Not going to happen.”_

The tyrant didn’t need even a second to consider what he’d said. “Will you fight for me, then?” Megatron asked without any fanfare, “Against your former comrades?” As if he had been expecting a retort along those lines.

The twins? The matter of _who the slag they’d fight for_ was bound to come up eventually, but they hadn’t really foreseen it coming up so soon.

Or so directly. 

Maybe they should have. What was the point of dancing around the obvious? They were warriors. _Fighting_ was what they did, but now they’d switched sides. _Sort of._ Not because they _wanted_ to. 

So where did their loyalties lie right now?

_Not with Megatron._

But Sunstreaker didn’t think that needed to be said, Megatron had to know already.

What of the whole reason they were here, then? “You’d risk your _sparkling?”_

Megatron had an answer prepared for that as well. “I would not shelf one of the best warriors Cybertron has to offer just because they’re _carrying,”_ he near growled, like that was something he felt strongly about.

Sideswipe blinked and even Sunstreaker rocked back on his heels. If the sentiment wasn’t entirely unexpected—they were assets to whoever they fought for, and they knew as much—the emotion behind it was.

But Megatron continued, “What would _Optimus_ say? That you need to put your whole life on hold so as to not endanger the sparkling?” Now he growled properly.

And was that it? That he once again disagreed with a stance the Prime took?

 _Was it_ a stance Optimus had? They hadn’t exactly had the time to verify that, but Megatron sure sounded like this had… Come up before, or something.

Sunstreaker narrowed his optics up at the warlord. “The way you decided to let everyone know about the goddamn sparkling, we didn’t really have the time to find out _what_ Optimus would’ve thought.”

“He has made his stance _clear_ in the past,” Megatron snarled. “He _wasted_ your talent to begin with, only to set you aside completely if he found out you were harboring _new life.”_

Considering how rabid Optimus was about protecting life in all of its forms… Honestly, that wouldn’t have even surprised them, although Sunstreaker _wasn’t_ about to take just Megatron’s word for it.

And what was all this talk about how good fighters they were? _Best_ Cybertron had to offer, _wasted_ on the Autobot side of the war?

 _Frag off._ “If you’re trying to soften me to the idea of fighting for you, _it’s not working,”_ Sunstreaker growled back. “You fragging _destroyed_ my life.”

“Didn’t you do that yourself, Sunstreaker?” Megatron asked, and now he leaned in in a way that forced Sunstreaker to take a step back—or move as far back as he could before the edge of the berth hit the back of his thighs. “The sparkling was about to come to light regardless, and it was my _right_ to lay claim on it.”

“You had no right to have me ousted me as a slagging _traitor!”_

“But that’s what you _are._ You think they wouldn’t have found out the truth eventually even _if_ your medic had kept it a secret?”

Sunstreaker’s engine growled hard enough that he began to worry for its integrity, his face twisted in a motherfucking _snarl._ Megatron wasn’t _wrong,_ on any front, but slag him all the same! Maybe things wouldn’t have ended like this if the damn fragger had just kept his mouth shut.

“It is _my_ sparkling as well, Sunstreaker,” Megatron continued. “I was not and _am not_ about to let the _Autobots_ keep me from it.”

“So that makes it _okay_ to just walk in and force me to join you?” Sunstreaker hissed, shoving at the warlord’s chassis with both servos. _“Get the slag out of here,_ we’re _done_ talking.”

But Megatron grabbed his servos, lifted him by them, and threw him back onto the berth. Sunstreaker landed with a grunt, but sat up and snarled at the tyrant right after.

Megatron didn’t make a move to follow him, but his optics were burning on him. “We’re done talking when _I_ say we’re done talking. 

“How did you even know to show up at just the perfect time, anyway?” Sideswipe spoke up suddenly. Megatron glanced at him as he’d forgotten his brother was even present, which wasn’t that much of a surprise. In any scanners they’d show up as a _single_ reading, and with Sideswipe as still and quiet as he had been, following their little conversation...

“There’s little Soundwave doesn’t know,” Megatron answered.

The implications settled in quickly. “You were keeping tabs on me?!” Sunstreaker demanded in a near roar that he was sure would carry up and down the hall if the room wasn’t decently soundproofed. 

Megatron glared at him like he was an unruly _youngling_ getting on his nerves. _“My_ sparkling, Sunstreaker. How many times do I need to repeat that?”

 _“My_ life! How many times do _I_ need to repeat that?!” That _infuriating_ fucking–

“Okay, okay,” Sideswipe piped up again, bringing his servos up to diffuse the situation a little bit before Sunstreaker jumped up to _strangle_ the fragger. “I get it, it’s your sparkling and you have rights to it, and that conflicts with our right to our life, but you decided the sparkling was more important than letting us decide what the slag we were going to do.” Sunstreaker glared at his brother for good measure too, but Sideswipe didn’t pay him mind. “How much freedom do we have, though? We were allowed to walk around the ship, which was honestly more than we expected, but…” he trailed off, frowning.

“I will not make you prisoners unless you force my hand,” Megatron said, significantly more calm in responding to Sideswipe than he was with Sunstreaker.

That _could_ have something to do with Sideswipe just acting less aggravating, though.

Slag his brother for good measure. What the fuck had him acting so _reasonable?_

“So we’re allowed to leave the ship if we want to?” Sideswipe prodded further.

“With escort, yes.”

That was… Really surprising, actually. Sideswipe stilled for a second because they really had expected the answer to be a simple ‘no’, but Sunstreaker found his words without too much delay. “What, don’t trust us to not fragging _run away?”_

“I would drag you back even if you did. There’s nowhere you can go where I wouldn’t find you,” Megatron _glared_ at him where he very much didn’t glare at Sideswipe. “I’m more concerned with your _former_ faction. I will _not_ let them separate me from _my_ sparkling.” There it was again. Apparently Megatron was really serious about having the sparkling for himself. 

“Frag you too,” Sunstreaker muttered before he raised his volume back to normal levels. “What about the fact it’s _my_ sparkling as much as yours? If I’d rather the Autobots had it over _you?”_

This time Megatron’s voice was calm and steady when he answered, “I would not _allow_ that.”

That was the trouble with fifty-fifty rights to something. If you wanted different things, at some point one would need to overrule the other one way or another. 

In this situation, there was little question that Megatron was in a _far_ better position to overrule anything Sunstreaker said or wanted. 

Sunstreaker growled, but at the end of the day, it wasn’t like he actually wanted the Autobots to have the sparkling. Who the slag knew what they’d do to it… “So what do you slagging expect from me?” 

“I _expect_ you to stay with the Decepticons until you have delivered it, and care for it to the best of your ability during your carry,” Megatron rumbled. “You will not deny me access to yourself or it, and after it has separated, _I_ will have it.”

Right. And _what_ could he do to argue any of that? There was a bit of a _power imbalance_ going on here.

“And if _I_ want to have it too, after it’s separated?” Sunstreaker asked with a growl. _Did he_ want that? Frag if he knew, but he was curious for the answer regardless. 

“You’re welcome to _stay,_ but the sparkling will not _leave.”_

So… Stay among the ‘Cons if he wanted to have a part in the sparklet’s life after he’d delivered it.

Sunstreaker scowled. “It sounds like a hell of a lot like you’re expecting me to _put my life on hold_ until I’m no longer carrying.”

“I am the sire. I have a say in what happens to the sparkling, even during the period it resides in _your_ frame.”

They were just going in circles here, weren’t they? Sunstreaker threw his arms up before flopping back onto the berth, _frustration_ coursing all over his frame. “Does it matter one crap what _I_ want, here?”

“We can discuss _your_ options again _after_ you’ve delivered my sparkling.”

Sunstreaker snarled, and in an angry moment of true genius, kicked at Megatron with both legs. Fucking _bastard,_ walking in all _dangerous_ and _titillating_ and proceeding to turn his whole fragging life upside down.

Because Sunstreaker had played _no_ part in that, oh no.

Megatron caught his legs easily. The tyrant’s optics flashed and Sunstreaker had a moment to consider how big of a mistake he’d made, before he was tugged to the edge of the berth—with Megatron between his legs.

Sunstreaker growled twice as hard. _“Get the slag away from me.”_

“I seem to remember you quite love my spike,” Megatron growled right back at him. “It has been a while, _hasn’t it?”_ His servo slipped to Sunstreaker’s valve cover and Sunstreaker tried to tilt his hips away from the touch, to no avail.

And slag, but he didn’t want to think about all of the spectacular frags they’d already had before their little accident. A traitorous part of his mind whispered that _what did it matter, the damage was already done._

There was nothing more to lose, so why not just _enjoy_ what there was? 

A larger part of his mind, though, remained entirely too stubborn to just give Megatron what he wanted. Sunstreaker did nothing when the warlord’s claws dug into the seams of his panel despite the way Megatron raised an optical ridge at him— _would he retract, or would he not?_

He had every time before, but every time before there were _questions_ to be avoided.

There was no one to ask those questions, now. Everyone _knew_ already. 

The panel stayed shut.

Megatron’s other optical ridge rose up as well, a second ahead of his claws sinking in and dislodging the entire cover. Sunstreaker grunted at the pain as the tyrant simply tore it off and threw it aside. 

Wetness already greeted Megatron’s digits when he shoved two of them into his valve without preamble, the sting only revving Sunstreaker’s engine higher. “Are you ever _not_ wet for me?” Megatron hissed at him, leaning down even as he began to pump those digits in and out. Sunstreaker’s hips jerked into the motion before he could stop himself, followed by a furious growl—furious at himself, furious at _Megatron._

 _“Frag off_ and stop flattering yourself.” Slag, but Megatron’s already thick digits would be _nothing_ compared to his spike itself, and heat was pooling in Sunstreaker’s core just at the thought of that. His engine growled harder, anger rising in time with his arousal.

Slag Megatron for always turning him on so _fucking_ effortlessly. Without even really _trying,_ though at least he was taking the time to somewhat prepare him—a third digit slipped into his valve, spreading his calipers further with just another little sting. Sunstreaker’s helm fell back against the berth and he had to bite back a _moan._

That was enough for the tyrant. His digits pulled out, then the familiar click of his spike cover retracting heralded the nudge of a very sizable spike against his valve entrance.

Sunstreaker had just the time to prepare himself before Megatron thrust in, _all_ the way… But even having expected it, he couldn’t keep a groan from escaping his vocalizer no matter how he tried to strangle it. Megatron’s servos, so massive compared to him, caught his hips to keep him in place.

Not that Sunstreaker would have found himself too motivated to go anywhere with the warlord’s length splitting him open to the most exquisite strain of his calipers.

And that was even before he started to move. Once Megatron pulled out, only to push back in the next moment… Primus.

How wrong of him was it to say he’d slagging missed that stupid spike? Sunstreaker couldn’t keep himself from rocking his hips into the steady, heavy, deep thrusts. Megatron chuckled. “You’re _hungry_ for it.”

 _“Slag you.”_ That did _not_ come out as a fragging moan, dammit.

Sideswipe kept physically quiet, but in their spark his chortling reverberated all over the place. Sunstreaker growled harder at that. They were _both_ laughing at him, fraggers.

But slag, the way Megatron’s pace increased until it was enough to put all of his previous berth partners to shame—he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to that. His valve was singing its praises at him, _pleasure_ rocking his whole damn world until he couldn’t do more than grab onto the berth’s surface in a doomed effort to ground himself.

Megatron wasn’t kind, he wasn’t gentle. His hold on his hips was tight enough to dent and he _pulled_ him back into every punishing thrust, as if the motion of his hips alone wasn’t violent enough. 

Sunstreaker wouldn’t have it _any_ other way. Fragging forget Optimus—forget Ironhide. Optimus couldn’t even pretend to be anything other than _soft_ and _thoughtful,_ always so worried about Sunstreaker’s comfort every step of the way. Ironhide could try, but it never stopped feeling like he was just _acting._

The other Autobots weren’t even worth mentioning.

Megatron was nothing like them. He wasn’t acting, he wasn’t pretending, he was just _himself_ —intense, demanding, _taking._

 _Giving_ just by _accident,_ as an _afterthought._ Megatron chased after his own overload so roughly Sunstreaker doubted they’d ever have a single frag that didn’t end up with him looking like he’d gotten _thoroughly_ ‘faced, but frag–

It was fucking _worth it._ He could fix himself back up after, but in the moment, in _this_ moment, only the sheer ecstasy Megatron was driving his frame towards mattered.

He couldn’t keep quiet. Fuckit, he tried, and he wasn’t a loud individual, not prone to voicing his pleasure—but he couldn’t _not_ do that now as Megatron drove his spike into him _over_ and _over_ again. Sunstreaker writhed for _more_ of it, shoving into every thrust until Megatron’s engine was rumbling in approval and Sunstreaker himself was moaning with every violent invasion into his frame. 

“Your words never seem to agree with your _frame,”_ Megatron growled at him, _shoving_ in particularly roughly to punctuate his words.

Sunstreaker couldn’t will his optics open, couldn’t stop his groan—but he _growled_ right back. “Trust my words. _I hate you.”_

“But not my _spike,”_ he could hear the tyrant snarl, and was his voice coming closer?

Then there were lips on his, as rough as the thrusts into his valve.

Sunstreaker was moaning. Why couldn’t he stop himself from moaning? And he shouldn’t– Frag, but he shouldn’t be winding his arms around Megatron’s neck to pull him ever closer, and he definitely, he _definitely_ shouldn’t part his lips at the demanding bite at his lower lip that was only followed by Megatron’s glossa invading his oral cavity.

 _Slag it all._ If the fragging _Autobots_ had seen him now, moaning his pretty spark out as he took the warlord’s spike and moaned for _more,_ let him kiss him, let him _use_ him… Oh, he was a _traitor,_ alright.

He took it until he couldn’t anymore. A hoarse cry rose from his throat as his overload hit him with all the energy of a bolt of lightning, arching his frame from help to pede— _against_ the frame above his. Megatron growled as his valve _clenched_ down, and a moment later Sunstreaker could feel further wetness assaulting his already sopping valve—could feel the charge from Megatron’s frame crackling against him, pulling him into another, smaller overload before the charge from the previous had even finished dying off.

He slumped against the berth as the last remnants of that finally abandoned him, his vents heaving. As were Megatron’s. At least he wasn’t the only one who had found that… _Satisfying._

Megatron pulled back with one last nip on his mouth, letting his spike depressurize into its housing. As ever, a veritable flood followed its retreat, streaming from Sunstreaker’s valve, onto the berth’s edge, and to the floor from there. 

“Should we do that again, hm?” Megatron asked from him, and Sunstreaker finally found the willpower to open his optics to glare at the damn mech.

_“Go to hell.”_

There was a twitch at the corner of Megatron’s mouth, an almost smile that didn’t quite materialize before the warlord turned to leave, taking the step to the door. “Have Hook fix that cover,” he said as it opened for him.

Like they even knew where Hook’s repair bay was, but Megatron didn’t much enlighten them on that front before he just _walked out._

The door closed on his heels.

_Pits._

Sideswipe scooted into his field of view. “So…” his brother said, inspecting his heated, panting frame, spread legs, and the fragging _mess_ between them. “I’ll clean that up. You just… Enjoy the afterglow,” Sideswipe grinned.

Fragger was _teasing_ him. 

Sunstreaker snarled, but… Yeah, he didn’t really feel like moving.

Frag _everything._


	3. Leave It All Behind

::Sunstreaker: presence requested at comm. room.::

Soundwave’s voice floated through his comm. line after he’d accepted the request for the link, and really he wasn’t… He just wasn’t going to slagging question how Soundwave knew his frequency when Sunstreaker very much had never shared it with him.

Soundwave knew way too many damn things, that much was for sure.

::I have _no fragging idea_ where that is,:: Sunstreaker grumbled back.

They hadn’t even had the slagging time to find Hook’s repair bay yet. His valve cover was absolutely not attached to his person yet, and Sunstreaker didn’t much fancy walking around without it.

Especially since he was still likely to drip a trail wherever he went.

Primus could damn all of this right now, please.

::Soundwave: will send Ravage to show the way.::

Right. ::Well, thank you, but would he mind showing the way to Hook’s medbay first?::

Soundwave paused for a second, and Sunstreaker wasn’t sure what the frag he did during that pause, but where he’d half expected the answer to be ‘no, now hurry up’, Soundwave instead responded with, ::Ravage: will show the way to medical bay.::

And then Soundwave cut the call.

...Alright. So. Apparently this was a thing now. Getting shown around by a damn _cat._

He shared a glance with Sideswipe and they finished what they were doing, namely, touching up their paint jobs and finishes. Aside from his missing valve cover and some dents, he was looking just like he hadn’t gotten railed by the almighty Megatron the night before.

They knew what they were doing on the _frame care_ front, was all.

Limits to everything, though. Dinged and bent valve covers went beyond their ability to touch up. Sunstreaker had stored his in his subspace for now. Maybe it could be used, maybe it couldn’t be used, but if nothing else, it was scrap metal. That was always useful to someone.

They didn’t have to wait long after that before there was a ping at their door, and… It wasn’t opened immediately after. Instead the person at the other side waited politely until Sideswipe opened the door and looked down.

None other than Ravage was sitting in front of their door, meeting Sideswipe’s gaze with that thoroughly neutral look that the panther didn’t seem capable of getting rid of. “You needed to be shown to the medical bay, yes? If you’d please follow me.”

 _Polite._ But the brothers filed out after the cat and followed along as Ravage trotted down the hall. A few ramps up, more hallways that they did their best to keep track of, and they came to the end of a short hallway ending in large double doors. They opened on their approach, and on the other side was indeed a repair bay.

“Hook, if you would!” Ravage called out as they entered. The twins had a look around. It was as gloomy as the rest of the ship, but beyond that it looked reasonably well equipped. And clean. Sunstreaker wasn’t sure why he’d expected the Decepticon medbay to be grimy, but it wasn’t.

Hook appeared around a corner and had one up down look at them.

“What do you need?” he asked when nothing immediately jumped out at him.

“Megatron kindly ripped off my valve cover,” Sunstreaker responded, crossing his arms across his chassis. “I’d like it reattached.”

To his credit, Hook didn’t much react, just gestured to one of the berths and went to get some whatever tools. Sunstreaker took the invitation and got on the berth, spreading his legs at Hook’s approach.

Hook didn’t give him _any_ damn warning before he started poking around. Sunstreaker twitched when he felt the Constructicon’s digits pawing at the edges of his valve—probably checking the connectors and the integrity of the surrounding plating. “There’s some bending,” came Hook’s verdict. “I’ll need to fix that too. Do you still have the cover?”

Sunstreaker nodded and reached into his subspace, fetching the piece of metal and handing it to the medic. Hook turned it around in his servos before nodding. “I can still use this. A moment and I’ll have this fixed.” With that, he wandered over to a workbench and began the process of straightening the cover back to its original shape.

It took… _Way_ longer than he would’ve expected from Ratchet, but Sunstreaker tried to wait patiently. Sideswipe fidgeted restlessly and _tried_ to strike up a conversation with Ravage a few times, but the cassette turned out to not be incredibly chatty. Sideswipe had very little success and eventually just slouched against the wall next to the doors.

 _Finally,_ though, Hook came back over to him and busied himself between his legs again. His touch was sure in the way of someone who knew what they were doing, but slow like one’s who wanted to make sure they exercised the utmost care in what they did.

Ratchet was sure, but he was also swift. Not so much it would have reduced the quality of his work, he was better than that, but he didn’t waste time.

Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if Hook was _wasting time_ either, but pits, he could’ve still worked a _little_ faster. 

But even if it took twice the time, his cover was eventually snapped neatly in place and Sunstreaker felt significantly more… Covered. “That should do it,” Hook said with a satisfied nod. “Try to retract it next time, maybe?”

Sunstreaker grunted. “No promises. Thanks.”

“Yeah yeah,” and Hook left, disappearing back around the corner he’d come from. No ‘now get out of my medbay’, surprisingly.

Or maybe it was just Ratchet who was grouchy enough to chase you out with a wrench.

Sideswipe shrugged at him, so Sunstreaker went ahead and jumped off the berth. Ravage nodded at the both of them before he led the way out of the medbay.

“Why does Soundwave want us in the comm. room, anyway?” Sideswipe asked as they followed the cassette.

Ravage glanced at him before answering. “Optimus Prime wishes to speak with you.”

Sunstreaker growled. “What the slag does _he_ want?”

“He hasn’t said, but I expect it concerns the matter of your defection.”

 _Yeah,_ that’s about what they’d figure too. It wasn’t really a stretch to imagine there were things that had left unsaid when they’d left the Autobots, as sudden and unplanned as that had been. Or whatever else regarding the whole situation.

There was a heck of a lot to unpack. Take your fragging pick of what it could be. 

“Has he just been… Waiting? Like, Soundwave asked us to come to the comm. room first, the whole medbay detour wasn’t much planned,” Sideswipe asked. 

He wasn’t sure if Ravage’s face could even form the expression, but it almost looked like he _smiled._ “Lord Megatron informed him of the reason for your delay, fear not.”

Wait.

_Wait wait wait._

“Are you telling me,” Sunstreaker hissed, “that Megatron fucking told _Optimus_ he took off my valve cover and I needed to have it reattached?”

“Yes.” And that was definitely amusement in Ravage’s voice, smile or no smile.

Sideswipe burst out laughing, but Sunstreaker couldn’t resist the urge to facepalm. Right, now the fragging _Prime_ of all people knew Megatron played it rough—like that couldn’t be expected anyway. _Prime_ didn’t much like it rough, though. 

He could only imagine Optimus’ goddamn _concern_ at news like those. And it did look a little bad. Usually when both parties agreed to interface, the covers came off _voluntarily._

He was going to hear about this still, wasn’t he?

They came to the doors of the comm. room before he had the chance to say anything more on the topic. Soundwave was standing on one side of the room, _there_ but out of the way. Megatron stood in front of the large main screen with his arms clasped behind his back, glancing their way as they entered.

And on the screen itself was Optimus, the Ark’s orange interior as his backdrop. 

“Ah, he’s here,” Megatron intoned upon seeing them, gesturing for them to approach. Sunstreaker scowled; Sideswipe still felt a bit _giggly—_ but they walked over to the screen until they were within Optimus’ view. “As you can see, in _perfect_ health.”

“No thanks to _you,”_ Sunstreaker snarled with a glare at the warlord.

Optimus cleared his vocalizer. “Twins,” he said in greeting. “Are you alright?” And there came the _concern,_ right out the gate. Optimus’ optics dropped a little lower, although it looked like he was rather looking at their ruined insignias, rather than anything _further down._

Sunstreaker rolled his optics, but Sideswipe threw his arm around his shoulders and grinned at Optimus. “Just dandy~ Hook’s totally decent at the repair stuff,” he laughed, just to see Optimus’ look of distress at the reminder of what the slag Sunstreaker had needed fixed. Sunstreaker barely resisted the urge to have his palm meet his face again.

At least Sideswipe was having fun.

“What do you want?” Sunstreaker asked with _that_ out of the way, crossing his arms and frowning at the screen—and very aware Megatron was standing at his shoulder, overlooking the whole conversation. It didn’t matter to _Sunstreaker,_ but he wondered if it was giving Optimus a hard time. 

Maybe he wouldn’t expect Sunstreaker would _dare_ speak the truth with the tyrant present. To pits with that! He wasn’t a fragging coward and he was _not_ here to please Megatron. Damn mech could think what he wanted of anything Sunstreaker said, it was no paint off _his_ back. 

...Up until the moment it _might be._ He was far from putting violent retaliation past Megatron. 

Not enough of a deterrent, though. Optimus would get the fragging _truth,_ no matter what that might be.

“I wanted to ask how you were doing…” Optimus started, which was fair enough coming from him–

–But he continued, “...and remind you that you’re _always_ welcome among the Autobots, twins.”

Sideswipe removed his arm from his shoulders and straightened, the both of them more than a little surprised at the declaration.

And suspicious over it. “Seriously?” Sunstreaker asked, his disbelief ringing loud and clear in his voice. “After I fragged _Megatron?_ And got knocked up by him? And kept the sparkling? And lied about what the frag was going on?”

“I won’t pretend those aren’t serious, even condemnable infractions,” Optimus said, sounding like he was choosing his words _very_ carefully, “but I don’t want you to think that joining the Decepticons is your only choice in this situation.”

Oh, so that was it? Optimus just didn’t want them on the Decepticon side? Why? Because he just happened to hate the Decepticons? Because he didn’t want the twins fighting _against_ him?

Sunstreaker scowled. “And would the _other_ Autobots agree? I’m pretty sure Cliffjumper and Red Alert are glad to see us gone, and they’re not the only ones.”

“They can be reminded,” Optimus rumbled, and where that would’ve sounded all kinds of threatening coming from someone like Megatron, he knew what Optimus’ ‘reminders’ were like.

Peaceful talks in his office with some light berating, that’s what. 

It never worked on anyone except those far too eager to please. “You never managed to shut Cliffjumper and Red up even before we did anything to earn their distrust,” Sunstreaker growled. Well, hadn’t done anything beyond being too _violent,_ too _Decepticon._

They weren’t Decepticons, never were, _still weren’t,_ but that didn’t mean their _conduct_ wasn’t more becoming of the purple faction. “What reason do I have to trust you’d have any more luck now that my _disloyalty_ has been proven?”

“You’d have the command on your side,” Optimus said. _Aside from Red Alert?_ And as if that was _enough_ if the rank and file were busy hating on them. 

There was one more issue here, too.

“Even if I wanted to come back—which I don’t—you really think _he’d_ let me?” Sunstreaker asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at Megatron. The tyrant had made it abundantly clear he wasn’t going to let Sunstreaker just leave while he was carrying the damn mech’s sparkling, even if Optimus wasn’t necessarily aware of the extent of Megatron’s determination. 

But the Prime should be able to guess, just based on the manner in which Megatron had _fetched_ him—just based on the warlord’s general personality. Optimus was more familiar with it than most on the Autobot side.

“I’m willing to force the issue,” came Optimus’ answer, his optics flicking to Megatron. Sunstreaker could hear the tyrant’s engine rev quietly, although Megatron stayed silent otherwise and didn’t interrupt their conversation.

Force the issue, huh? Megatron would assuredly do the same, and then what? Sunstreaker would be stuck with two factions fighting over him? _If_ the Autobots even agreed to fight for him.

Somehow that thought didn’t much appeal to him. Oh, it would be entertaining no doubt, but it wouldn’t necessarily end so mighty well for him.

“I don’t need you to,” Sunstreaker said, revving his own engine loud enough that it was sure to carry to Optimus. “I’m perfectly fine staying _right_ here.”

Optimus looked disbelieving, prompting Sunstreaker to roll his optics again. _Of course_ the Prime wouldn’t fragging believe him, especially after that valve cover incident. Someone like Optimus wouldn’t understand how the slag someone could be fine with suffering through things like that—mech was fragging convinced Sunstreaker needed saving from the evil, _evil_ warlord named Megatron, wasn’t he?

He needed no saving. Frag, he’d save himself if it came down to it. He didn’t need one Prime’s _help_ for it.

Megatron’s servo landed on his shoulder, _heavy_ —a _claim_ for Optimus to see, if there ever was one. For as long as he carrying the mech’s offspring, Megatron had a vested interest in him, and with how possessive over the sparklet he was behaving, Sunstreaker wasn’t sure there was anything anyone could do to stand in Megatron’s way if someone tried to remove it from his sphere of influence. _His_ sparkling, how many times had the tyrant repeated that?

Was the weight of the servo _approving_ too, though? Sunstreaker had just denied he wanted to return to the Autobots, exactly as Megatron wanted.

But he didn’t do this for Megatron, he did this for himself, and for the lack of a _future_ he had in the Autobots.

Nothing the Prime could say would change how his troops felt, and no doubt his troops would feel Sunstreaker was nothing but a certified traitor. And the sparkling, too. _Its_ future would be guaranteed with Megatron, at least in some way—but the Autobots? Would they treat it as anything more than the goddamn creation of their _enemy?_ Prejudiced against it from the beginning?

No, the Autobots weren’t an option. 

Optimus looked like he was about to say something, but Sideswipe pulsed a question at him that Sunstreaker proceeded to voice before the Prime could get a word in. “Would you have pulled me from battles if you’d known I was carrying?” as Megatron claimed?

The Prime hesitated for a second or two before nodding. “Yes. I would not risk the life of one who had no say in it.”

Did he know Sunstreaker found that answer displeasing? Well, he did after Sunstreaker narrowed his optics at him. Megatron’s servo tightened on his plating—no doubt the tyrant wanted him to remember he had called the _truth_ on this matter. 

So Optimus wouldn’t have let him fight, even though it was _his_ fragging frame and _his_ fragging life—shouldn’t _he_ have a say in what he did with it, sparkling or no sparkling?

The Prime wasn’t so different from Megatron. They were both interested in _controlling_ him now that he was carrying—just for slightly different reasons. 

But both of their reasons revolved around the sparklet. _His_ goddamn sparklet.

Everyone seemed very ready to brush that little detail under the rug. _He_ was the carrier. Shouldn’t he have some fragging _say?_

“Cool. So, recap, I’m not coming back, I’m perfectly okay with staying right here... _Was that all,_ then?” Sunstreaker asked, snapping his words—aggravated.

Optimus sighed and his shoulders slumped just so. “Will I see you on the battlefield?” he asked still.

Sunstreaker hesitated for a moment before he shook his helm. “No. I’m not fighting for him.”

He couldn’t tell if Optimus was relieved, although he would’ve guessed _yes._ It would be so like the Prime. “Then that is all,” Optimus nodded. Sunstreaker could just feel Megatron shifting, and Sideswipe glanced up at him—Megatron nodded to Soundwave, and the screen blinked to black, cutting the call rather abruptly.

“That went well,” Megatron commented after. It didn’t sound like sarcasm, and really, what reason for sarcasm was there? Hadn’t Sunstreaker said everything Megatron had wanted to hear? Not because he gave a damn about what the tyrant wanted, but… For now, _and through some force,_ their wills aligned.

He had no options but to stay with the Decepticons _or_ try to get back to the Autobots’ ‘protection’, and it was easy to choose between those two. So… What Megatron wanted.

“Why did you let him call?” Sunstreaker asked, looking up at the warlord.

Megatron met his optics. “He needed to hear for himself that you’re not leaving.”

Sunstreaker scoffed. “You think he’ll believe me with you hovering there the whole time? He’ll think I’m _scared_ of you or something, and just saying what you’re pressuring me to say.”

“If he didn’t believe you and tries something, he will _regret_ it,” Megatron growled at that, rather viciously. His grip on his shoulder tightened again— _possessive,_ almost.

Sunstreaker shivered from helm to pede. Oh, there were promises of so many _bad_ things in that gesture.

He didn’t find himself minding any of them very much.

 _“Are_ you scared of me, though?” Megatron asked, a bit out of the blue. Sunstreaker cocked an optical ridge at him.

“Of course not. _Why would I be?”_ Was he stupidly fearless, considering who the slag he was asking that from? Maybe, but it was the truth. 

Megatron’s rumble sounded amused, but he didn’t try to give him _reasons._ “So you meant what you said about not wanting to return to the Autobots?”

“Of course,” Sunstreaker repeated, shrugging his free shoulder. “They’d treat me as an _outcast_ after the slag I did, even more than they already did. And what of the sparkling? I doubt they’d view it as an innocent bystander to this whole _spectacle,_ considering who the frag its _sire_ is.”

 _“Precisely,”_ Megatron snarled. The corner of Sunstreaker’s mouth twitched _up_ into a half smile. 

“Basically, we have nothing to go back to,” Sideswipe said, shrugging too— _and nowhere else to go,_ although he didn’t say that much. Everyone knew it was the state of things, anyway. “So you’re stuck with us for now.”

“And I’ll make you _regret_ it,” Sunstreaker promised.

Megatron laughed. “I look _forward_ to that."


	4. Cogs

“Ready?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Sideswipe grinned back at Skywarp. The Seeker was standing respectfully right outside the door to their quarters, not stepping in because he hadn’t been invited.

Wasn’t everyone here just so _polite._ Though, a part of it might’ve just been self preservation instinct, if Skywarp possessed some of that. The twins had slagged him more times than anyone would care to count, so did he really want to give them a reason to do that again by overstepping his boundaries, or something?

Though that might be giving himself a bit too much credit, Sunstreaker thought. He knew he had a reputation, _well earned_ one, but expecting the likes of Skywarp to take heed of it was just… A little too far out there.

So maybe the damned wing thing just had actual manners.

But he had promised them a tour of the Victory, and apparently they were going to get it. Skywarp nodded to Sideswipe’s agreement, then gestured them along and started down the hall. “This part of the ship has quarters in three decks and several hallways. This is the lowest deck of those. Seekers’ quarters are on the highest deck of the three, and combiner teams have the middle deck.”

“So we’re just kinda the… Overflow?” Sideswipe asked as they walked. Most of the Decepticon forces on Earth were either Seekers or combiners, with just the odd mech that didn’t fall into either category. They expected that the majority of the quarters around theirs were empty.

“Kinda, yeah,” Skywarp shrugged, but continued _chipperly_ right after, “But don’t let it get you down! You’re as important as everyone else!”

Sideswipe laughed. Sunstreaker huffed. _“More than,_ if we fought for Megatron,” he growled. Skywarp’s wings flicked, but he didn’t seem confused so maybe he got the point.

Point being that even Megatron had acknowledged they were some of the _best_ warriors still alive. If they’d fought for Megatron… Pits, maybe they could’ve turned the tide of the war, at least here on Earth. The Autobots and Decepticons had been pretty evenly matched with them on the Autobot side. How would those scales tip now that they didn’t fight for the Autobots?

How would they have tipped if they’d started to fight for the _Decepticons?_

But that wasn’t happening. He might’ve been carrying the fragging warlord’s offspring, and that may have forced him to desert the side he’d fought for the length of the war so far, but that _hardly_ meant he held any loyalty for the mech, or had any desire to risk his life for him.

Even if it meant they didn’t get to fight.

Who knew, maybe their desire to _battle_ would eventually win over, and they’d fight for Megatron just to get to fight.

But on waiting for that day…

Instead of going up the ramps like they’d half expected, Skywarp instead took the ramp down.

 _All_ the way down.

“This is the lowest level of the ship,” the Seeker told them as they came to the bottom of the ramp and were greeted with a hallway even more dimly lit than the rest. The air was musky, heavy with the scent of spilled energon and _misery._ “The brig is here, as well as Vortex’s, uh… Workspace.”

Torture chamber, in other words. The brothers shared a glance. They’d heard enough about the rotorflier who was a terror just on the battlefield—nevermind in a space where he was in absolute control and you were at his complete mercy.

You needed to be one big time masochist to find _that_ fun.

“Seriously, you don’t want to end up here,” Skywarp said before he turned around and ushered them back up the ramp.

“Just the brig or..? ‘Cause we know brigs pretty well. They’re not so bad,” Sideswipe asked even as they climbed back up.

Skywarp snorted. “You’re _lucky_ if it’s just the brig you get.”

Sunstreaker frowned, but it was Sideswipe who spoke up again, voicing their pulse of disquiet. “Wait, you mean we have to worry about Vortex too? Even though we’re on _his_ side?” That was… A disturbing thought, to say the least.

But Skywarp confirmed it with a nod. “Megatron doesn’t mess around with punishments, is all. And Vortex enjoys it, so…”

…Right. Welcome to the Decepticons where you could get tortured by your own side! Wasn’t that just a cheery thought. What did that spell for them? Known troublemakers?

Sideswipe was hard at work reevaluating his priorities and the worth of making as much of a menace of himself as he’d been among the Autobots. The Autobot punishments were rarely that much of deterrents. They were all _softies,_ and it showed in what they thought were appropriate repercussions.

Decepticons, from the sounds of it… Followed more in the footsteps of the _Pits._ It made sense. Many of the Decepticons at the start of the war had been Pit fighters. Didn’t it pretty easily follow that the mannerism and culture of the Pits would travel over? Punishments included?

And they knew a thing or two about the kind of punishments the Pit masters had thought _appropriate._

Sideswipe was chewing on his lip thoughtfully, but when they got to the top of the next ramp, there were others who were headed for it.

A certain _rotorflier_ and his team leader.

But _they_ were the ones to step out of Skywarp’s way, rather than the other way around. That was… Surprising. Although, Skywarp was trine to the Second in Command. Did that make him rank higher than even Onslaught?

Pit if he knew, but he got the impression that the Decepticons were pretty serious about _pecking order._

Vortex’s rotors were twitching in a way that looked a lot like amusement. Sunstreaker glared at him, and they twitched harder.

Onslaught, meanwhile, inclined his helm at them. “Allow me to properly welcome you to the Decepticons, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker.”

“Thanks?” Sideswipe hazarded, and was Onslaught amused now too? Slaggit but why did everyone need to be wearing both visors and masks? Just _one_ of those wasn’t enough? Had to hide your expressions entirely? If they hadn’t bothered to control their fields at least, but neither Vortex nor Onslaught was letting a hell of a lot be read.

The Combaticon leader landed his attention squarely on Sunstreaker next, that much he could tell just by where his face was directed. “Defecting was a tactically solid maneuver, let me say. I congratulate you for the smart move.”

Sunstreaker frowned. _Tactically solid? Smart move?_

Had he had any other _options?_

“Are you teasing me?” he growled, rounding in on the tank. Skywarp’s wings flicked up and he glanced at Sideswipe, but when Sideswipe didn’t react, Skywarp seemed to relax a bit too.

And yeah, maybe _this_ wasn’t a smart move, antagonizing Onslaught of all mecha. He didn’t have a lot of chances of winning against him in a fair fight.

_Maybe if he glitched..?_

Something to consider.

But Onslaught didn’t take offense. In fact, his field, _this time,_ actually flared with amusement that he didn’t bother hiding.

Sunstreaker snarled louder. “Stop being a fragging coward and show your face. Let’s see what kind of a slagging smile you’re wearing under that mask.”

 _“Feisty,”_ Onslaught commented. “I can see why Lord Megatron likes you.”

“I really don’t give a _frag_ about how much _Lord Megatron_ likes or dislikes me,” Sunstreaker growled back, his servos balling into fists. Just where should he hit to make the biggest point? He couldn’t reach Onslaught’s face, although cracking his visor would have been _greatly_ satisfying. 

“Maybe you should,” the tank rumbled back, never losing that damn _amusement._ “You’re protected as long as you remain in his good graces, but what of if you don’t? You refuse to fight for him. What _good_ are you short of an entertaining berth toy?”

Crotch. That’s what Sunstreaker chose to hit. Onslaught’s interface cover _dented_ pleasantly under his fist, and although the tank didn't make a sound, he _jerked_ in surprise.

_Good enough._

Skywarp made an alarmed sound behind him, but Sunstreaker stared up into Onslaught’s visor without a trace of _fear._ The red band flashed at him, but Onslaught straightened _without_ returning the gesture. “Hm. Prove me wrong, won’t you, Sunstreaker?”

With that the tank turned to leave. Vortex was chortling, wiggling his digits at them in parting. “Do make sure to come to visit me at some point, twins. We’ll have _so_ much fun,” the rotorflier giggled before following after his team leader.

“Man,” Skywarp breathed once the two were well out of sight. “You have a spine of steel, Sunstreaker? You know he could probably slag you.”

“I’m aware,” Sunstreaker growled. Sideswipe stepped over and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, grinning like a lunatic.

“That’s Sunny for you! More anger than good sense,” his twin giggled like some cracked Vortex copy. Sunstreaker rolled his optics.

“Uh-huh,” was the sound Skywarp made, by all appearances not in _disagreement._

They headed up the ramps next, and Skywarp pointed out the other hallways with living quarters, but didn’t turn to any of them. Instead he led the way down a different hallway. “I think you visited the repair bay already? It’s right over there, and this part of the ship also has labs and storage areas. Most of those are off limits without permission.”

Reasonable enough.

Higher still they went up a different set of ramps. “Here’s the offices,” Skywarp said as they turned a corner and nearly ran into Swindle. Their fellow grounder danced out of the way and a collision was avoided.

Then his brother and the damn swindler were already grinning at each other, bumping fists in greeting. “Sideswipe! My good friend, I was wondering when I’d see you around.”

Sideswipe laughed. “Riiiight. Don’t kid, you’re just sad you don’t have a contact in the ‘Bots anymore.

Swindle shrugged. “True, I feel like I lost a good business partner. Unless you’re still willing to strike some deals?”

“Now why would I?” Sideswipe grinned. “We’re on the same side now, ain’t we? If anything, we should start working together. Talk some humans out of their goods, eh?”

“Isn’t _that_ a thought.”

Sunstreaker facepalmed as the two _businessmechs_ started to talk money. If the Autobots had known Sideswipe regularly struck up deals with Swindle… Well, they had never been the most loyal ‘Bots there were. And it wasn’t as if Sunstreaker hadn’t benefited from that. Both Swindle and Sideswipe were rather proficient at procuring goods for _entirely_ unfair prices. Sunstreaker had gotten quite many things for himself thanks to what the two could accomplish.

And now they wanted to work _together._

The humans wouldn’t know what hit them.

“Let’s talk more when you have the time,” Swindle said in parting, and Sideswipe gave him a thumbs up before they set to follow after Skywarp again.

“You did deals with him even when you were Autoscum?” Skywarp asked curiously.

“Ayup!” Sideswipe confirmed, a bit proudly. “And no one ever found out.”

“Cool.” Was the Seeker a little impressed? Well, he had reason to be. Semi-regularly going behind the command’s back without them ever becoming none the wiser to what Sideswipe was up to… Yeah, that took some guile.

“Anyway, you were in the rec room already, it’s right here. Entrance to one of the engine rooms is down that hall. And up here–”

Another ramp up, partway down the hallway, “–Is the comms room. You were here too already, right?”

“We were,” Sideswipe confirmed, but they peeked in anyway. Soundwave was present, not much of a surprise there.

But so were Rumble and Frenzy, and the two looked up and waved at them cheerily. “‘Cons didn’t have enough twins already!” Frenzy cackled at them.

“How’s the Megadick?” Rumble asked, and then both of the nutjobs laughed even harder.

“Pretty good. You’d _die_ from it,” Sunstreaker commented, giving a meaningful look at the cassettes _small_ stature. 

“Sure would!” Frenzy agreed.

“How about you?” Rumble asked, this time clearly addressing Sideswipe, and still grinning like a total _loonie._ “Gotten a taste of it yet?”

Sideswipe sighed _dramatically._ “Nope, I’ve been denied. Maybe one day, though!”

The smaller set of twins laughed even harder, and seriously, did they find absolutely _everything_ hilarious?

“Rumble. Frenzy. Return,” Soundwave spoke up, and Sunstreaker could’ve sworn he was beyond exasperated despite the flatness of his field _and_ voice.

“Aw, but boss–!”

_“Return.”_

The two grumbled but nevertheless did as they were told. Soundwave opened his chest for them and his symbiotes folded into their altmodes and entered. The TIC’s chest compartment closed tightly after, and he went back to work without another word.

Righty.

Skywarp snickered before the led the way further. “Here’s Megatron’s throne room–”

“Seriously?” Sideswipe interrupted their guide at that, glancing at the Seeker incredulously. “He has one? I thought that was just a baseless rumor.”

Skywarp blinked at them, equally confused. “What, the Prime doesn’t have one?”

“Nooooo?” Sideswipe ventured, question marks practically dangling above his helm. _“OP_ and _thrones_ barely fit in the same sentence.”

“But… He’s the _Prime,”_ Skywarp said—argued?

 _“Yeah,”_ because that much was true, he was the Prime, “but like. He’s super big on being on the same level as everyone else,” Sideswipe responded. And wow, wasn’t here just a bit of a difference between the leaders of the factions. Not that they hadn’t known about it already, but… _Throne room._ An actual, legit throne room on a goddamn ship.

That really just drove the whole point home. Optimus wanted to be on an equal footing with his troops, as little as that worked because everyone still _stupidly_ looked up to him, but Megatron? Didn’t seem to make any effort in that direction.

Rather it gave the impression that Megatron was very willing and even eager to establish himself as the sovereign ruler, and _remind_ everyone that that was what he was.

“That’s weird,” Skywarp noted, and it sounded like he really meant that. Sideswipe shrugged. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but… Yeah. Optimus had never really been the most traditional Prime. Even the Decepticons had to know _that_ much, but apparently they hadn’t realized just how true it was.

“Anyways,” the Seeker continued, coming to an open doorway. “Here’s the command center.”

Starscream and Thundercracker glanced up as they peered inside. It wasn’t too dissimilar from the Ark’s command center, just… _Bleaker._

“Isn’t it the _carrier,”_ Starscream sneered at them. Thundercracked shot his trinemate a disapproving look that the _Winglord_ entirely ignored.

“Isn’t it the screechybird,” Sunstreaker returned, smirking at the way Starscream’s wings hiked up in offense.

Starscream didn’t entirely take the bait, though. “You know _he_ is just going to cast you aside after the sparkling emerges,” he said instead, looking back at his screen like he didn’t care.

But if he didn’t care, he would have shut his mouth. He didn’t, though. “You mean nothing to him.”

“I know,” Sunstreaker said, crossing his arms. “And he means nothing to me. How is _that_ a problem?”

Thundercracker looked a bit surprised, although Sunstreaker couldn’t guess what for. Was it any secret he and Megatron were nothing more than a _fling?_ They enjoyed each other’s frames, and now Megatron had added interest in him because of the new life he was nurturing, but that was _it._ That was all it had ever been. 

And frankly, he had no interest in turning it into anything more than that. He was here because he had nowhere else to go, and who knew what would happen once he was no longer chained down by the sparklet in his frame, but he didn’t _need_ Megatron in his future. The sparkling did, however.

And it was _his_ sparkling too. He wanted it to have a future, and it would have one with its sire. Probably. Not that he knew what Megatron actually had planned for it.

Chances were it would be better than the alternatives, at least.

“It isn’t, I suppose,” Starscream conceded, still refusing to look at them. Skywarp stood to the side a bit awkwardly. Thundercracker was frowning, as was Sunstreaker.

Sideswipe didn’t look to have a care in the world, as he rarely did.

“Then we’re not in disagreement,” Sunstreaker said, and _walked off_ back the way they’d come. 

“Drop it, Star,” he could hear Thundercracker say over an aggravated whine of thrusters that probably belonged to Starscream. Sideswipe followed him, and after a pause, so did Skywarp.

“Thanks for the tour, ‘Warp,” Sideswipe said once they’d reached the intersection of the particular hallway, giving their guide an easy grin.

“You’re welcome!” Skywarp chirped back, apparently putting the command center incident behind him already.

Sunstreaker had a question, though. “Is there something between Megatron and Starscream?”

“Huh? Oh, no,” Skywarp answered with a shake of his helm. “I mean, they interface sometimes, like’s only natural, but there’s not like, _feelings_ there or anything.”

“So he’s just an asshole for the sake of being an asshole, and not out of jealousy?” Sunstreaker cocked an optical ridge.

“You’re kind of an asshole for the sake of being an asshole too, aren’t you?” Sideswipe snickered at him. Skywarp tried hard not to smile, but Sunstreaker wasn’t about to take offense. That was the truth, wasn’t it?

But when Skywarp answered him, it was with, “I’m not gonna say he’s not jealous, but he just doesn’t like sharing attention, and you have a part of Megatron’s attention now.” The Seeker shrugged, with wings and shoulders both. “It’s not ‘cause he’d have feelings for Megatron or anything like that.”

“With how poorly Megatron and Starscream get along during battles, I’d have thought he’d be pleased to not have all of that attention on him anymore,” Sideswipe said, tilting his helm.

“They don’t get along, but they’ve got this… It’s weird,” Skywarp tried to explain, gesturing with his servos without much clarifying anything. 

“It’s weird, gotcha,” Sideswipe nodded. They absolutely did not get it, but sometimes relationships fell in a weird, unexplainable area. If they got to observe it some, maybe they’d get it eventually. 

Skywarp opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted. “Skywarp!” Starscream’s voice came from the command center. The purple Seeker straightened and glanced that way, before giving them an apologetic smile. “You’ll find your way back, right?”

“Yeah, we will,” Sideswipe smiled back, shooing him off with his servos. “You go see what Screamer has for you.”

Skywarp snickered, but bid them goodbye and jogged back down the hall. The twins stood in place for a while before Sideswipe shrugged and headed back towards the ramps. Might as well hit the rec room, not like they had anything better to do. Besides, wouldn’t it be fun to get to know their so called _comrades_ some more?

Sunstreaker wasn’t so sure about that, but agreed to the plan regardless.


	5. She Wolf

There was a ping at their door, but they barely had the time to glance up before it had already opened. Megatron loomed in the doorway, and he probably wasn’t _trying_ to do that, but with his size and demeanor it was practically unavoidable.

Or maybe he was trying to do it. He was having plenty of success if that was the case.

Not that the twins were cowed. Sideswipe was lying on his front on their berth, playing a game on the datapad in front of him, and he didn’t lose the light caress of a smile he wore almost permanently despite the tyrant’s glowing red optics passing over him. Sunstreaker sat next to his twin, his art tablet in his servos, and his work _unfinished._

He narrowed his optics at Megatron for the goddamn interruption. He was in the middle of something for frag’s sake. “Your ship, huh?” he grumbled. March in whenever he felt like, sure, why not! Not like they didn’t have anything better to do than entertain a particular despot.

“Mmm, so you do learn,” Megatron intoned, stepping inside and letting the door close behind him. Sunstreaker would have said it turned the already dimly lit room that much darker, but honestly, with how poorly lit the hallways were too, there wasn’t much of a difference even with the door closed.

It wasn’t like their species strictly needed the light, but sheesh, it would’ve sure improved the mood of the place to not have dark nooks everywhere.

“What do you want?” Sunstreaker asked, saving his painting before subspacing his tablet. _Something_ gave him the feeling it would be in the way, and he’d rather it didn’t get destroyed.

“What did you have there?” Megatron asked, taking the step from the door to the edge of their berth. Sideswipe _ever_ so casually moved to one side of the berth, out of the way. Megatron glanced at him briefly, but his primary focus rested squarely on _Sunstreaker._

Who frowned at him, but he wasn’t the type to be ashamed of the things he did. What reason did he have to be, anyway? “I paint,” he answered simply, because nothing said that should have stayed a secret. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t _good_ at it, too. If someone wanted to see his work… Let them _marvel._

 _“You?_ That is a surprise,” the tyrant asked, just… _Standing_ there, looking down at him. One of his optical ridges arched, probably in surprise, although Sunstreaker couldn’t tell how feigned or real it was.

He took offense, either way. “Yes, _me,”_ he snarled. “What the slag is that supposed to mean?”

“I merely didn’t take you for the _creative_ type. Consider my assumption corrected.”

Ugh. Whatever. Sunstreaker rolled his optics, but there was a question Megatron had smoothly not answered. “What the slag do you want? If it’s not something worthwhile, _get out.”_

“I think you can guess,” Megatron rumbled, and _now_ he moved, coming onto the berth and pushing Sunstreaker down onto his back while at it. 

Sideswipe said nothing and did nothing, but Sunstreaker could feel his curl of amusement, and growled at that as well as the treatment Megatron was giving him. “You think you can just _walk in_ when the frag you please, and _frag me_ when the slag you please?” he hissed at the tyrant, bringing his legs between the two of them and kicking with full force.

Megatron probably saw that coming, though, and merely intercepted his pedes before they could make contact with his chassis, and from there it was an _easy thing_ to spread Sunstreaker’s legs and position himself between them.

And then they were there all over again, with Sunstreaker’s thighs spread wide around the tyrant’s hips. He… Couldn’t say he exactly _minded_ the position. His engine revved, but it was just out of anger, not from _anything else._ Certainly not.

“With how _into it_ you are,” Megatron said, and Sunstreaker bared his denta at him—at the _truth_ in those words, “I think the answer is _yes.”_

 _Bastard._ Primus damned Pit _reject–_

Whose servo had come to cup his valve cover. 

That was unfortunate with how much it managed to distract him from his internal chewing of both Megatron and _Sideswipe,_ who had upgraded from just amusement to outright _giggling_ in their spark. And his smile, even on the outside of his frame, had fragging widened pretty noticeably.

Even if he didn’t remove his optics from his datapad.

So. Right. Megatron’s claws were digging into the seams of his lower panel again, a clear threat. What had happened to his cover last time? There was no reason why that couldn’t happen _again._

But as last time, he had no reason to retract the damn cover. No Autobots to hold secrets from, and frag, what was it but a little pain and a trip to Hook? It was the _principle_ of things.

He stared the tyrant in the optic and kept the cover closed. Megatron didn’t look surprised by _that,_ and didn’t waste time trying to coax him into cooperation either. The claws dug in, and the panel was torn away. 

Sunstreaker’s hips jerked at the sting, but he didn’t avert his gaze any more than Megatron did, and he made no sound. What a fragging staring contest it became, with Sideswipe silently chortling to the side and Megatron’s thick, thick digits slipping into his valve with little fanfare.

But it could’ve been his spike too, and without preparation he would have _definitely_ felt that. As ever, though, Megatron was courteous enough to finger fuck him first, and Sunstreaker… Didn’t make particular effort to keep his hips from pressing back into every thrust of the warlord’s servo.

“As I said,” Megatron growled, _“Into it.”_

 _“Slag right off_ you self righteous little prick,” Sunstreaker snarled back, _shoving_ his hips onto the digits penetrating him. Megatron rumbled in amusement, but took that as a sign that he was ready enough, and the digits were replaced by a spike with minimal delay.

And as he already well knew, it was a spike with enough girth to pulverize the unprepared. Sunstreaker wasn’t unprepared, though, and his back merely arched as Megatron pushed into him, taking his fragging time with it until Sunstreaker’s vents were blowing hot air. Impatient, he reached down and caught the tyrant’s hips, but Megatron took no heed of his demand and kept his pace agonizingly slow.

He was going to _glitch_ at this rate. 

“The frag’s gotten into you?” he grumbled, jerking his hips towards Megatron, but to a very limited effect. _“‘Face me,_ you slagging wussie. Or did you forget _how,_ all of a sudden?”

“So _demanding,”_ was the growl he got in return, but _finally_ Megatron shoved _all_ the way inside. From his first set of calipers to the very last, there was the stretch and the fullness caused by a spike that could provide some fantastic results when used correctly—like Optimus had never known how to do.

And apparently Megatron had forgotten how to, too. Sunstreaker’s engine roared in utter _frustration_ when Megatron didn’t get it going right away, just circled his hips in a way that yeah, didn’t feel bad, actually felt pretty nice–

But it wasn’t what he fragging _wanted._

“For Primus’ sake, let me show you how it’s _done,”_ he growled, shoving at Megatron’s shoulder, hard, in what he thought was a clear enough indication that he wanted to swap places. Somewhat.

He honestly hadn’t expected it to work. Megatron didn’t exactly seem like the type to take requests in berth—or anywhere else, for that matter—but the tyrant _humored_ him. That was all it was, because his field flared with amusement he made no effort to contain, but _whatever._ It got Sunstreaker what he wanted, that was good enough.

Namely, Megatron rolled them over without _ever_ removing his spike, until he was on his back and Sunstreaker atop him, straddling his hips.

 _There._ That was better.

“Well?” Megatron spoke up, raising his optical ridges at him— _challenge,_ if he ever saw one. _“How is it done?”_

Sunstreaker’s engine rumbled in annoyance, but he would fragging well teach the damn mech a lesson. “You don’t _deserve_ this,” he hissed before he pushed himself up on his knees, relishing in the drag of Megatron’s spike across all of his primed sensors—then a drop down, his back arching as the tyrant’s length struck deep, colliding with his ceiling node in a _fucking_ good mix of pleasure and pain.

Rinse and repeat, but faster, and frag, maybe Sunstreaker hadn’t ridden a spike a hell of a lot in his lifetime, but Sideswipe sure had. Sunstreaker recalled those memories now, planting his servos on the warlord’s chestplates and _using_ the damn mech’s damn spike without a trace of care for Megatron himself.

Return the favor, no?

But it didn’t matter. Megatron’s engine was revving with his own arousal, because as much as Sunstreaker did this for himself, as much as every rise and every drop, every twist and jerk of his hips was _for him…_ It wasn’t as if it wasn’t going to feel good to the owner of the spike as well. 

A bit of a downside, but he could live with that if he got his overload out of this.

Of course, Megatron just couldn’t let it go on like that, couldn’t let him have the say. His servos found their way to his hips, and though they at first only rested there… They soon tightened their hold until it was testing the integrity of his armor, and having his hips caved in to grind against the joints underneath… Well, that would be a smidge unpleasant.

That wasn’t _relevant,_ though, because long before he would’ve gotten crushed to that extent, Megatron had already overpowered him by the grace of his larger frame, and there was little Sunstreaker could do to fight the grip even if it wasn’t yet denting him all the way. Megatron took hold of him like that until Sunstreaker was snarling all over again, suspended a little above the tyrant’s hips.

Megatron spoke up before he could say anything, “I think I got the _point.”_

Had he really?

He had, if what he did next was anything to go by. Because Megatron raised him, and didn’t just let him drop down, but _slammed_ him down onto his spike, and Sunstreaker couldn’t silence his groan at the sheer _violence_ of the move. 

And it only repeated. Megatron showed all of his strength by maneuvering Sunstreaker’s frame like he weighed nothing, up and down, fast and hard, until the _ached_ in the best fucking way. _“Yesssss,”_ he hissed through clenched denta, _loving_ every savage entry into his frame. His digits flexed and clenched against Megatron’s chestplates, and pits but he wished he still had his claws that he could’ve _sunk_ into the gaps of the tyrant’s armor–

But he would just have to make do with some assisting tools.

Sunstreaker reached for his subspace in a flash, pulled out one of his knives before anyone but Sideswipe would’ve had the time to react—and Sideswipe didn’t react–

And fragging _buried_ that thing in one upward thrust through Megatron’s throat and as deep into his helm as he could push it.

Sideswipe didn’t react.

 _Megatron_ growled, a sound coming from both his vocalizer and from _deep_ in his frame, vibrating his plating and Sunstreaker’s armor and insides by extension. Sunstreaker shivered, but didn’t tear his optics from the warlord.

Megatron removed one of his servos from his hip to bring it up instead, taking a hold of the handle of the knife Sunstreaker had abandoned, and pulling it out in one simple motion. He showed no signs of _pain_ despite the gush of fluids that followed the blade out of the hole it had made. “If that was an attempt at damaging me, it was rather pathetic,” Megatron rumbled, tossing the dirtied knife to the side—towards Sideswipe, who caught it midair and stored it in his own subspace.

That didn’t matter. What mattered was Megatron’s smoldering optics on him and his claws digging painfully into his hip. “Maybe it wasn’t,” Sunstreaker returned in a snarl, then _struck,_ digging his digits into the wound the knife had left behind.

Still Megatron didn’t react in any way that would have suggested pain, and Sunstreaker’s spark pulsed just that bit more urgently. Megatron _did_ react by grabbing his wrists, _both_ of them, and flipping them back around until it was Sunstreaker whose back collided with the berth, his servos swiftly pressed to either side of his helm by the tyrant. With Megatron firmly between his legs still, he found himself rather thoroughly pinned, and… What? At the mercy of the mech he had just stabbed? A mech not known for his _forgiving_ nature?

His vents blasted searing air, twice so when Megatron began to move, and now, _now_ he was going at it for _real._ More than that, even. The thrusts, they were on _this_ side of pain, not pleasure, and he shouldn’t have liked it, he really, really shouldn’t have liked it…

But Sunstreaker arched into every _brutal_ invasion of his frame, barely silencing his vocalizer from producing sounds that wouldn’t have been as much those of pain as they should’ve been.

Megatron didn’t _say_ anything, though. The tyrant’s optics bore into him and his engine was growling, and some of it might’ve been anger, but he didn’t speak. What did that mean? That Sunstreaker got away with his actions? _This time?_

“What do you plan to do with the sparkling?” he managed to ask— _gasp_ —between one thrust and the next, staring hard at Megatron. His gaze was met with a burning one that focused just that bit further with his question.

All remained silent but for the clash of their frames and the roar and rev of their engines for a good while before Megatron grunted and seemed to decide he might as well answer. _How nice of him._ “I may as well take this chance to see if it could become a worthy _heir._ I had never _planned_ for it, but opportunities are made to be seized.”

 _Heir?_ And what would he receive? A _faction?_

No, that couldn’t be it. “Cybertron?” Sunstreaker asked, just one word, but he was sure they both knew what he meant.

Megatron wanted Cybertron for himself, that was what the whole _war_ was about. If he managed that… Would _it_ be what he gave his heir, once the time came to switch the powers that be?

“I will mount the Prime’s head on my wall,” Megatron growled, and now there was true _hatred_ that dripped from his voice and field, “and build a new world free of the corruption of the Primacy. _That_ is what I will leave behind.”

He punctuated his words with a thrust even harder than the rest, and Sunstreaker _came,_ overload hitting him without warning and arching him off the berth. Charge crackled across his plating and arced into Megatron, and with a deep rumble the tyrant was pulled over the edge too, his release only lengthening Sunstreaker’s. His valve was greeted with increased wetness, and here he was again, destined to _drip_ before he’d cleaned himself out. 

They were both venting hard in the aftermath, but Sunstreaker wasn’t _thoroughly_ distracted from the topic at hand. Neither was Megatron, if the calculating look in his optics was anything to go by.

Sunstreaker met his gaze, as he had at every damn point of this meeting. “How can you be sure they’ll be deserving of that much?” Not _everyone_ was fit to rule a whole damn planet, and frankly, passing the rule to your creation _just_ because they were your creation seemed a bit foolish. 

Megatron inclined his helm and acknowledged that. “I can’t, and I will lose no sleep if they aren’t to be the next ruler of the Cybertron I’ll build. But I will give them the _chance_ to prove themselves.”

So that was it. That was the future Megatron had planned for _Sunstreaker’s_ sparkling. It was… He couldn’t say he wouldn’t have considered it a possibility, coming from Megatron. Couldn’t say he wouldn’t have _hoped_ it was what Megatron wanted of it. 

What could the _Autobots_ have offered it? What could _he_ have offered it if he’d turned Neutral and went on the run? The Autobots would have demonized it, there was little doubt on his mind about that, and the life of a vagabond Neutral was a life of _hardship._ What could either of those have given it?

What were those futures in comparison to what _Megatron_ was willing to offer it? To stand behind him as the next successor to Cybertron’s throne, be groomed for that role from the beginning, and if he proved worthy… It would be _Sunstreaker’s_ sparkling that became the next leader of their species. 

The Autobots, though, they would aim to take all of that away from it, because it was _Megatron_ who was the sire—Megatron who could provide those things to it. If the Prime won… What was there for him and his brother, nevermind the sparklet? How would the Autobots treat them, if they didn’t outright demand their execution for their desertion and the events that had led up to it? 

_Megatron_ was the future. At least for the sparkling. But what about Sunstreaker? Starscream had said he’d be cast aside, Megatron had said he had the option to stay if he wanted a part in the sparkling’s life, Onslaught had suggested he would meet a worse fate if he was _no good_ as anything more than a carrier… 

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. He’d never needed anyone’s help in his whole fragging life, and that wasn’t going to change. Whatever Megatron thought would happen to him would only happen if _Sunstreaker_ allowed it, and if he didn’t… He’d find a way out of it. He always did. He would carve his own path through life, damned be the war, damned be the factions, damned be the ones who struggled for the leadership of their kind. They were all _irrelevant_ if he so chose.

Would he choose that?

Or would he rather have a role in _his_ sparkling’s life, even through the future its sire was willing to give it?

That… He would need to decide on later. He wasn’t ready to dedicate himself to any course of action yet, not before he saw more of how things were going to unfold from here on out.

Megatron was looking at, studying his expression. There wasn’t likely to be much to read, but his thoughts having reached a conclusion, Sunstreaker nodded his understanding of Megatron’s words. Heir, if it became worth it.

Leaving the Autobots had been the right choice. They could have given it nothing but judgement and misery.

Megatron nodded back at him, and just like that, they seemed to have reached an understanding—a common goal of sorts, both of them looking to provide the most to their little _accident._ They could agree on that much.

And that was all. Sunstreaker shuddered when the tyrant pulled out of him, leaving him pouring fluids onto the berth. Megatron cleaned his spike with a few motions before tucking it away and inclining his helm at him— _them,_ because his optics flicked to Sideswipe too. “It was a _pleasure.”_

 _Right._ “Have that throat fixed,” Sunstreaker smirked, pushing himself to sitting. Megatron _glared_ at him, but something… Something gave him the feeling there wasn’t a hell of a lot of real emotion behind it.

With that Megatron left the room, leaving them alone again. Sideswipe finally put his game away and rolled to sit on the berth too, resting his arms on his knees. “This is pretty good,” he said, tilting his helm. He didn’t need to say what he was referring to.

It had never been _too_ big of a gamble to leave the Autobots, and really, staying just hadn’t been a real option, but this… This confirmed the rightness of their actions. If Megatron had spoken the truth anyway, but what reason did he have to lie? It wasn’t as if _Sunstreaker_ had the power to do anything about whatever the tyrant had planned for their offspring. The scale just wasn’t positioned that evenly. 

“About the war, though…” Sideswipe continued, more quietly. And… Yeah, that was a bit of a problem. Everything would be fine and dandy if _Megatron_ won, but if the Autobots did instead?

What then?

“Should we fight anyway?” his brother went on to ask.

 _Should they?_ For the future of the sparkling? Really complete their defection and turn against their former comrades? Kill them? For Megatron’s victory?

No doubt that would have pleased the tyrant greatly, but…

_Pits._

“I don’t know,” was the only answer Sunstreaker had.


	6. As Above, So Below

True to what Megatron had said, they were allowed to leave the ship.

With escort.

They asked Soundwave about it, in the lack of Megatron—where was he, anyway?—and the TIC easily enough gave them permission and the company they were required to keep. This time it was Thundercracker and Skywarp who got the honor.

“Megatron: prefers Skywarp accompany you. Teleportation ability useful for hasty retreats.”

And Thundercracker was trine to him, so it made sense. Besides, the two—even with Skywarp’s lacking intelligence—were some of the strongest Seekers the Decepticons had. They could feel _safe_ under their protection.

 _Yeah right._ As if they couldn’t take care of themselves. 

But if Megatron demanded they had company when leaving the Victory… Could be worse. At least they were allowed to leave. And as far as company went, Skywarp and Thundercracker weren’t the worst out there. Skywarp and Sideswipe got along swimmingly, and Sunstreaker could actually say the same about himself and Thundercracker. Thundercracker was a _sensible_ individual and didn’t get on his nerves just by existing.

They greeted the two Seekers in front of the lift to the surface, Skywarp immediately accosting Sideswipe into conversation on where they’d like to go and what they’d like to do. Sunstreaker and Thundercracker let them go at it until their compatriots had decided to just go to the shore and then… Ah. Jet judo, sans all the violence. Flying around _on_ Skywarp, more like. 

Sunstreaker cocked an optical ridge at Thundercracker, silently asking if the Seekers were really going to let either of them on their backs after all the history they had. Thundercracker could only shrug in response.

It might just be Skywarp who was _nutty_ enough to go for it. Well, Sideswipe had no complaints, just promised to leave all the damage and attempted murder to the past. Seeker surfing, then?

They flew from the crashed, underwater ship to the shore, and Victory’s platform disappeared under the waves until there were no reminders that the ship was there. Sunstreaker and Thundercracker landed some ways from the water’s edge to avoid the accursed _sand,_ but Sideswipe and Skywarp barely touched down before they were back in the air already, Sideswipe riding on Skywarp’s back this time. Were they both of them cackling or was that just Sideswipe?

Eh, probably both.

He and Thundercracker sat down on the grass and tilted their helms up to follow the crazy loops and rolls Skywarp was performing. Sunstreaker could feel Sideswipe’s enjoyment of the challenge it was to keep his grip on the Seeker.

So the two of them were having fun. That was good. Sunstreaker and Thundercracker, for their part, sat in silence for a while, surprisingly companionable despite the fact they hardly knew each other—but kindred spirits could recognize each other.

It was Thundercracker who broke the quiet by speaking up. “I heard you stabbed Megatron.”

Sunstreaker didn’t voice his surprise, but he was definitely feeling it. What happened behind closed doors didn’t _stay_ behind closed doors? Especially something like this? He couldn’t imagine Megatron would’ve wanted that to become common knowledge, that one uppity frontliner had gone and _stabbed_ him. The question that remained, then, “Where did you hear that?”

“Rumble and Frenzy tattle,” Thundercracker replied simply.

That did nothing to alleviate Sunstreaker’s confusion. “About things like these? Sounds dangerous.”

From the corner of his optic he could see Thundercracker’s lips twitch into a slight smile. “Soundwave knows what Megatron doesn’t want spread, and what he doesn’t care about.”

And somehow _this_ fell into the land of ‘doesn’t care about’? But, “‘Soundwave knows all’, was it?” Sunstreaker asked wryly. Who was he to argue if _Soundwave_ deemed Megatron to not give a damn if others knew Sunstreaker had stabbed him? Mech was a goddamn mind reader. And protective over his cassettes. If he’d thought Rumble and Frenzy had come under risk for spreading news like that, would he have ever let them?

Was the whole incident just so inconsequential, then, that Megatron didn’t care about it?

Sunstreaker couldn’t pretend he knew the tyrant’s reasoning, even if Soundwave did. If he asked either of them, would they provide honest answers?

Thundercracker _hmhed_ in what sounded like continued amusement, pulling him from his thoughts. “Something like that. Can I take that as a yes?”

Now Sunstreaker’s mouth pulled into a smile too, a bit vicious. “You can. I stabbed him.”

“And got away with it?”

“Evidently.”

“Dangerous move.” Oh, if he didn’t know that was true. Megatron was dangerous, and could’ve very well slagged him for his insolence— _without_ bringing harm to the sparkling, too. There was nothing that would have protected him if Megatron had taken true offense with his actions. “What spurred you to it?” Thundercracker asked.

Ah. What had, indeed? Missing his claws, the chance to really test Megatron’s frame with just digits… And jump from that into using a knife, and not just at any random gap of armor, but the warlord’s _throat._

Even knowing that there was no way a mere knife could have reached deep enough to do any true harm.

Why had he? “...I wanted to see if I could,” Sunstreaker responded at length. Megatron had a warrior’s reflexes. Maybe he could’ve stopped him if he had really wanted to. Or had he lowered his guard? Was that why Sunstreaker had managed his act?

And did he have any internal hangups of his own? Something in him that would have made him think better of stabbing who was likely the single most dangerous mech to exist at this point in time?

He hadn’t, evidently. He ought to be proud of that—no fear, no hesitation, just foolhardy stupidity… Bravery. Depending on who you asked.

Probably stupidity, in the circumstances.

And… “I wanted to see what would happen.” Megatron had shown a lot of leniency with him. He’d fought the tyrant on near even footing, and what of after he’d come back to his senses? Megatron had merely welcomed him back to the land of the _sane,_ and _hadn’t_ taken offense, that time either, for all the damage he had delivered him. He had accepted the news of the sparkling.

Hadn’t really done anything more than defend himself where appropriate, and fragged Sunstreaker where appropriate, no matter what Sunstreaker had done or said. Cursing, insults, there had been quite a few things that could have earned him more than what he’d received.

But further still from all that, ”I wanted to punish him.”

Thundercracker glanced at him at that, surprise in his field. “Punish him? For what?”

Sunstreaker huffed, some ways amused, some ways rising anger at the memory of _every slagging thing_ Megatron had done to him in the recent times. “For getting me into this whole slagging mess and for being an unrelenting _jackass.”_

And for the moment of it all happening, for _always_ taking control of him and never letting him be in charge—of the situation, _of himself, of his life._ Always telling him what he should do and forcing his hand if he didn’t cooperate.

_Fragger._

Thundercracker snorted. “Fair, I suppose.”

They both fell silent for a moment, watching Sideswipe and Skywarp’s continued play. Sideswipe had already dropped a few times, but Skywarp had kindly caught him before he’d hit the ground, every time. 

Those would’ve been some painful impacts if he hadn’t.

“Personally, I think he likes your spirit,” Thundercracker spoke up again, without much warning. Sunstreaker glanced at him from the corner of his optic. They both knew who he was talking about, anyway.

“Oh?”

Thundercracker tilted his helm towards him. “You’re strong and fightful, refuse to be cowed and know your worth. Those are the types of people he finds attractive.”

…Right. Megatron _liked_ him. That would explain some things, at the very least, but Sunstreaker frowned all the same. “You know an awful lot about me. And about Megatron.”

Thundercracker huffed a sound that wasn’t quite laughter, but pretty close anyway. “Yours is right there on the surface.” That… Probably wasn’t a lie. Sunstreaker smirked. He didn’t hide things much, did he? _Why would he?_ Wasn’t he one of the most gorgeous mecha to walk _any_ planet, one hell of a fighter, and _talented_ at practically everything he did?

Everyone envied him, or if they didn’t, they were _very_ dumb. 

”And I’m trined to Starscream,” Thundercracker continued. “He knows more about Megatron than anyone, short of Soundwave.”

Sunstreaker nodded his acceptance of that. So Thundercracker was a fairly authoritative source of information on Megatron thanks to his ties to Starscream. And considering even Sunstreaker knew Megatron and Starscream had been allies for practically the entire war, and that Starscream had had his rank from the beginning?

Although he could only use “ally” in a very loose manner. They _somewhat_ fought on the same side, but nothing had ever suggested they got along very well.

That didn’t mean they hadn’t learned a thing or two about each other, for how long they’d worked in close quarters.

“How do you feel about him? Megatron?” Thundercracker asked next, looking at him properly. Sunstreaker met his gaze evenly before turning his attention back to his brother. Sideswipe was free falling, again, but there was Skywarp, swooping in to catch him mid fall.

“He’s the unfortunate sire of my sparkling, but I don’t care about him beyond that,” Sunstreaker answered after a brief pause. “Not on a personal level, if that’s what you mean. The fucking is good, but that’s about it.” That was the truth. He cared about what Megatron could give him, and that was pleasure.

He cared about what Megatron could give their sparkling. He wanted to secure its future. Wasn’t that only natural? It was _his._

But none of that translated to any honest care for the mech himself. He couldn’t give a frag about him. The only reason he’d even care if he died was the sparklet. If it wasn’t for it… Pits, he would’ve probably danced on the mech’s grave. Why not, after everything he’d done to him? Bastard had sort of ruined his life.

Because Sunstreaker had had _nothing_ to do with the course things had taken, no way.

Thundercracker made a sound of understanding and acquiescence, but continued shortly after with another question. “Has he said what will happen to you after the sparkling emerges?”

Sunstreaker shrugged. “He’s said I can stay with the Decepticons if I want to be a part of its life, or presumably my other option is to leave and go Primus knows where, if I didn’t want to stay with it.”

“Would you return to the Autobots?”

At that Sunstreaker gave his conversation partner an incredulous look. “You kidding? No. Even if they had me back by some miracle, I don’t want to go back to see what they think of me after everything.”

Thundercracker nodded at him, not arguing. It wasn’t like Sunstreaker didn’t have a point, right? Slag, what would the Autobots even think if he just… Delivered the sparkling, and let Megatron have it, and came _crawling back_ to his original side, begging for goddamn _forgiveness_ for his actions?

_Not really a thing he did._

“Will you stay, then?” the Seeker inquired.

Sunstreaker’s mouth straightened to a thin line and he decidedly didn’t look away from the two frames frolicking in the sky. “I haven’t decided yet.”

He got another nod for that. Thundercracker probably asked out of simple curiosity, because they really didn’t have enough of a relationship for him to be likely to wish in one direction or the other. What did it matter where one who was still practically a stranger to him was?

But, there were other concerns Sunstreaker needed to consider in making that decision too. “Onslaught said I can’t expect anything good if I don’t fight.”

Thundercracker responded after a delay. “That might just be Onslaught’s opinion. Megatron doesn’t necessarily agree.”

“It does make sense though, doesn’t it?” Sunstreaker pointed out. If he wasn’t carrying, if he didn’t fight, what use to Megatron was he? A nice lay? Would that be enough to keep him protected if he otherwise only hogged resources?

“Some, I suppose,” Thundercracker conceded. “What keeps you from fighting?”

Sunstreaker snorted. “Autobot sensibilities? The fact I have no loyalty for Megatron? Something like that.”

Thundercracker nodded at that again, but didn’t try to convince him to start fighting or anything of the sort. Sunstreaker wouldn’t have much appreciated that anyway. He didn’t need anyone telling him what he should do, thank you very much.

Thundercracker switched topics entirely after that, his optics drawing to Sunstreaker’s chassis. “Can you feel the sparkling yet?”

One of Sunstreaker’s servos came up to rub over his ruined insignia. His spark chamber lay under there, at the very core of his frame—and in it, a little something that would soon gain a will of its own. “Not yet. Soon though, I think. It’s been so many months.”

The Seeker inclined his helm, but before he had the chance to say anything more despite opening his mouth to speak, they were both interrupted by Sideswipe cussing out Skywarp. Pretty loudly, too. Both Thundercracker and Sunstreaker glanced up, just in time to see _purple_ surround the two airborne ones.

And Skywarp _warped._

Sideswipe wasn’t any more equipped for warping than anyone else aside from Skywarp himself, and once they reappeared higher up in the sky, his brother was _rather_ dazed. Enough so that when Skywarp entered another barrel roll like a complete asshole, his brother’s grip on the Seeker gave and he entered a graceless fall, fighting to center his senses.

Sunstreaker knew exactly what that felt like even with his own frame, not just from the experience bleeding into him from Sideswipe.

But Skywarp wasn’t a _complete_ asshole and warped again, this time without Sideswipe, reappearing and transforming below his twin and catching him in his arms.

From there he flew over to where Sunstreaker and Thundercracker were sitting and touched down with a slag eating grin. Sideswipe he set down, and his brother very generously sprawled onto the ground, appreciating unusually much the feel of solid ground beneath him. “With great power comes great responsibility,” Sideswipe groaned, lifting his arm with some effort and jabbing a digit at Skywarp, “and you just misused yours.”

There was a glare too. Sunstreaker’s mouth rose into a smile despite himself, and Thundercracker looked a smidge amused too even as he lightly berated his trinemate for acting _rude._ Skywarp just shrugged, not particularly apologetic.

But even through Sideswipe’s reeling, Sunstreaker knew he would just come back for more—once he regained his senses, anyway.


	7. Ocean Eyes

He needed to ask for instructions on where exactly to go, because it hadn’t been a part of the tour Skywarp had given them, but that was no biggie. He got some curious looks for his question, but he also got directions.

And that led him here, standing in front of the door to Megatron’s quarters. He wasn’t sure what he had expected. Maybe some double doors, or a fancy door, or something to announce who the room belonged to.

Instead there was just a door no different from any other doors on the ship, tucked away in the shadows at the end of one hallway. 

He had a moment of consideration on whether he was really going to do this. It wasn’t too late to walk away, yet. He could turn around and leave, go to the rec room, or down to the quarters he shared with his twin, and not do this. 

But he’d come this far. Why would he chicken out now? He couldn’t even say he was honestly afraid or anything of the like, not really even worried. Maybe he should’ve been. It was _Megatron._

He had questions, though. He wanted answers. And, he wasn’t the type to beat around the bushes. Direct was the way to go.

So Sideswipe lifted his arm and firmly knocked on the door three times. Soundwave had said this was where Megatron was, and that was how Sideswipe liked it. They’d have privacy. Either Megatron’s quarters or his office would’ve done well. He didn’t need absolutely everyone overhearing everything he wanted to talk about.

The door opened smoothly a few seconds after his knock sounded. Sideswipe looked inside. Megatron was sitting at a desk with a datapad in front of him, looking back at him. By the tyrant’s expression, he wasn’t expecting to see him. 

Soundwave probably hadn’t told him Sideswipe had been asking after him, then. That was cool too. “Can I come in?” Sideswipe asked.

“Sideswipe. This is a surprise,” Megatron commented, but nodded at him. Sideswipe took the invitation and stepped into the room as sparsely furnished as any other quarters were likely to be. There was a desk, and a berth, some containers embedded in the wall. It was bigger, though, looking like it could’ve held at least four mecha if they were to be bunched together as closely as was the norm on more populated ships.

But these were just for one mech. Megatron enjoyed some more space than most, it looked like, but that was really… All. All that Sideswipe could see.

“Sit,” Megatron invited him, gesturing on the berth that really was the only place to sit in the room, aside from the chair at the desk that Megatron was already occupying.

Sideswipe took that invitation too, walking across the room and hopping onto the berth, turning around to sit on its edge and swinging his legs. They didn’t reach the floor.

“What brings you here?” Megatron asked, turning his chair to face him. Sideswipe met his gaze evenly, only tilting his helm.

“Why did you target Sunstreaker?” he asked. Straight to the point, laying the one thing he most wanted to know right there.

Megatron didn’t look taken aback by the question. Sideswipe wasn’t sure if he had expected the topic to come up sooner or later—it seemed pretty obvious they’d get curious about it eventually, at least—but whatever the case, it appeared the tyrant already had an answer prepared. He didn’t waste time thinking about what to say, that much was sure. “Because your brother is fierce, beautiful, and powerful. _Fascinating.”_ Compliments, now? Sideswipe’s mouth rose into a smile, but Megatron continued. “And because I remember him. Both of you, really.”

Sideswipe nodded. That had come up before too. “The deathmatch?”

“Yes,” the tyrant confirmed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “I took over that arena afterwards, you know. But you two weren’t _there_ anymore.”

Sideswipe’s helm dropped and he stared at his servos. Right… That. “I know,” he said quietly. He knew Megatron had come to destroy the arena they were held in shortly after his ill fated fight with Sunstreaker.

“I would have wanted you in my ranks,” Megatron said, and Sideswipe’s gaze shot back up, his surprise showing itself before he could take a hold of it. The tyrant took notice of it, inclining his helm. “You proved yourself fine warriors. I could have used you.”

...Yeah, they’d known how to fight even back then, hadn’t they? Sideswipe looked back to his fiddling digits—blunt digits. He’d had claws back then. So had Sunstreaker.

Now they needed to rely on blades and the like. The Autobots had thought claws were just too _Decepticon._ Filed them down. 

“Where did you go?” Megatron asked, just as direct as Sideswipe. And there was no point in not answering, was there? What had happened wasn’t a secret by any measure.

Sideswipe shrugged. “When you attacked the arena, there was a whole ruckus. We… We took the chance, found our owner, and killed him.

“Then we ran while all the guards were busy. We made it out of the arena in all the confusion. And then kept running.” Those memories were fuzzy. He could just remember the city around them, dark, only some of the street lights on, and even those were dim. The gunfire and yelling behind them, coming from the arena. The explosions as the Decepticon rebels began to demolish it.

End slavery once and for all, and tear down the establishments that thrived on it. Sideswipe knew that story.

But that was all the memories really were. Impressions, muddled flashes of moments that didn’t always even follow each other in a sensical manner.

He knew this much, though: “A group of Autobots had infiltrated the city. We ran into them. They wanted to _help_ us, so they took us out of the city with them. We were… Not in a good state of mind. Our coding bound us to our owner, and killing him was… Slagging _worst_ feeling.” Sideswipe shook his helm. The Autobots had never understood things like that, how you could be beaten to the point your entire programming _warped_ itself to the situation. Adapted.

That was the whole thing their species did, _adapted_ to changing situations. Sometimes it just went too far.

Sometimes it forced you into obedience and made anything else unthinkable. “It was a miracle we even could kill him,” Sideswipe murmured quietly. “And we _paid_ for it. It was all so fresh, too. We never got the chance to recover.

“We hadn’t said _no_ in vorns, and when they took us to enlist… They asked if we wanted to. Pits, we couldn’t even think past the next _minute.”_ He laughed, but it was without any humor. He didn’t remember a hell of a lot of that either. Just the… Confusion. Not being able to keep up with what was happening. “We didn’t know how to say no, so we signed up.”

Sideswipe shrugged. “They didn’t understand what they were doing, so they… They thought they were doing a good thing. Helping us.” They weren’t. They took advantage of them and their situation, even if unintentionally. 

Megatron growled and his field, that had grown darker throughout Sideswipe’s little story, now flared with very genuine anger. “And I suppose it was impossible for you to consider defection.”

Sideswipe snorted. _“You_ get it.” It had taken such a long time to even think what _they_ wanted, and it took even longer and was even harder to actually try to direct their life into the direction they _wanted_ it to go. Defection had never… Slag, they’d resigned to being stuck with the Autobots. It had barely crossed their minds, no matter how many times they were accused of being a step from going through with it.

If Megatron hadn’t forced their hand… They probably wouldn’t have gone through with it even now, after all this time.

“You weren’t the only ones in a similar situation,” Megatron rumbled, and Sideswipe lifted his optics to look at him. The tyrant was studying him, anger in him—but not directed at Sideswipe. “We rescued several gladiators and some buymechs with warped coding that reacted badly to _freedom.”_

Sideswipe closed his optics. It hurt. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

Things would have gone so differently if they’d gotten found by the Decepticons instead of the Autobots, or frag, if they hadn’t ran from the arena and instead waited for the Decepticons to purge the place of those who would keep them captive.

But it hadn’t gone down like that. Instead they’d gotten a war full of distrust and ostracization, of being told they were _wrong,_ wrong for who they were, wrong for the way they acted. They hadn’t gotten beaten physically, but socially. 

And he’d tried. Pits, he’d _tried_ to fit in. Sunstreaker hadn’t really, but Sideswipe had tried to make the effort. He’d tried to make friends, and had some success in that. He’d tried to be what _they_ wanted him to be, act like _they_ wanted him to act. 

But that wasn’t what he was. He wasn’t soft like an Autobot was supposed to be. He could never twist his helm into thinking violence was the last resort, or whatever. He could never fully deny the violence embedded in his very being, could never quite stop himself from saying or doing things that got him odd looks and whispers behind his back.

He’d never fit in. Neither of them had. It didn’t matter how long the war had carried on. What was the saying? A tiger couldn’t change its stripes? A leopard couldn’t change its spots?

They’d been _wolves_ among _sheep,_ barely donning the wool to hide their true nature.

“We were meant to be the Decepticons from the start, weren’t we?” Sideswipe asked barely above whisper. Did he believe in the Decepticon cause? Pit if he knew. He hadn’t much cared about the Autobot one, that was for sure. 

But they were Kaonites and they were gladiators. Those two became _Decepticons._

“You were,” Megatron confirmed simply, “but you’re here now. It’s not too _late,_ Sideswipe.”

Right. Fight for the Decepticons. Pretend they’d never been Autobots to begin with.

If only it really was that simple.

“Was this what your brother meant when he said he wasn’t Optimus’ to save?”

“You remember that?” A brief thing Sunstreaker had spoken in the middle of their departure from the Autobots? That most probably weren’t going to understand begin with? That _Optimus_ wasn’t too likely to get, and it was aimed at him? “But yeah, it was.” 

The Autobots were never the ones who should have _saved_ them.

“How did you end up in the Pits?” Megatron asked next. Why? Was he just curious?

Not that the reasons mattered. Sideswipe replied anyway. “Our commissioners were too deep in debt and needed credits, fast, so they sold us,” he shrugged. “We were just lucky it wasn’t into a whorehouse.” The Pits were a lot more deadly, but slag, at least they hadn’t been forced to interface their lives away.

“A common story,” Megatron growled, and Sideswipe grinned a lopsided, mirthless smile. It was. A lot of mecha had gotten sold into crappy situations by others, usually by those who were supposed to guide them to experience and independence. 

But Megatron, the very mech he was now talking to, had brought crashing down the whole system that had enabled that. He was in the presence of a history maker.

Who he had more questions for. “Why did you let everyone know Sunny stabbed you?”

Megatron didn’t look too surprised by that question either, although this time he took a few seconds before he answered. “It functions well as a warning. Although I didn’t punish your brother _too_ severely for it–” just a bit of extra hard fragging, yeah. Nothing Sunstreaker couldn’t handle, “–it lets others know I am not so _weak_ I’d be easily disposed of, even by a warrior as skilled as your brother. Starscream isn’t the only one whose attempts are doomed to fail.”

Sideswipe frowned. “Sunny wasn’t really serious about it though, was he?” What would have happened if Sunstreaker had been _serious?_

Honestly, probably nothing. Megatron was strong and hard to kill. Sunstreaker had already _tried,_ although in a bit different situation, but it wasn’t likely that he would have had any more success this time either. Megatron wouldn’t be the leader, wouldn’t be _alive_ still, if he was killed that easily.

The tyrant largely dismissed his words. “Point remains, as does their inability to know how serious your brother was or _wasn’t.”_

Was that it, or did it have more to do with _who_ had done it, too? Thundercracker had suggested Megatron might like Sunstreaker. Maybe to a point where he was willing to overlook even pretty severe slights? 

But he wasn’t about to accuse the warlord of things like that. Didn’t seem like a very smart move and all. So instead Sideswipe merely nodded, and moved onto his next question. “Why were you alright with the sparkling’s… Existence, I guess? You could’ve demanded it’s snuffed.” Or killed Sunstreaker to kill it too, or… Really, things could’ve gone very badly if Megatron had decided it needed to be disposed of.

But he hadn’t. 

Megatron took a moment or two before he answered. Sideswipe waited, meeting the tyrant’s gaze evenly.

“I can’t say I didn’t consider it,” the warlord eventually spoke up. That wasn’t surprising. It would’ve been more surprising if he _hadn’t_ thought about it.

“But ultimately,” Megatron continued, “I found myself liking the thought of leaving behind a legacy—accidental as its creation was.”

Kinda like he had told Sunstreaker, about seizing opportunities and all that, yeah? Sounded about the same.

Sideswipe couldn’t help a partial grin. “Besides just your place in history books, you mean?”

Megatron huffed. “Besides that, yes.”

Admittedly it was a little different to leave behind something _living,_ rather than just the mark you’d left on the galaxy. The former was easier to achieve than the latter, sure, but still. Knowing a piece of your spark continued even after time caught up with you… 

“What is the relationship between you and your twin like?”

That question Sideswipe was a bit unprepared for. He blinked, then frowned. Explaining it to wholesparked… They didn’t always _get it._ Twins weren’t rare. _Split-spark_ twins were. Most mecha never ran into a creature like them and tried to understand them from the limited scope of how they viewed the world. They needed to have an open mind to consider an existence different from what they knew.

Time to see which camp Megatron fell to.

“We’re one,” Sideswipe stated the one core truth about them.

But that alone didn’t say a hell of a lot, so he didn’t stop there. “We have two _frames,_ and we can be in two _places_ at once because of that, but there’s only one spark, and we’re each only different aspects of it. One mind, one will, and no thought that doesn’t belong to the _both_ of me.” Sideswipe released a gush of air from his vents, a little frustrated. Why was it so hard to explain this in any _elegant_ way?

He gave it his best shot anyway. “Cut your frame in two lengthwise and expect the halves to function individually. That’s our spark. If we’re not in cooperation, if we don’t act as one… We don’t function.”

Megatron was silent for a time, his expression thoughtful. Sideswipe gave him the chance to mull it over, but eventually… Megatron nodded. “I see.” And… Somehow Sideswipe got the impression he _meant_ that.

It explained everything so far though, didn’t it? Why Sideswipe had never acted in a way that didn’t _complement_ what Sunstreaker did. He hadn’t spilled his brother’s little secret. He hadn’t tried to put a stop to things. He’d lied to keep things running.

Because _Sunstreaker_ hadn’t wanted to reveal things, and _Sunstreaker_ hadn’t wanted things to end. And if Sideswipe was Sunstreaker and Sunstreaker was Sideswipe, if they only had _one_ spark to experience life with, to live with… That meant Sideswipe didn’t want that either. Were they really that much different from a wholesparked mech then, at the end of the day?

Only, in two places at once, and with two frames to express themselves with.

“If your brother wants me,” Megatron suddenly said, and pits, but his look was _calculating_ when he rose from the chair he had occupied—staring Sideswipe down as he approached. Every step clanged against the metal decking. Sideswipe could almost imagine the vibrations.

And Megatron came closer, until he was right in front of him, and then he _leaned down,_ forcing Sideswipe to lean back on the berth– “Does that mean you do too?”

Sideswipe swallowed hard. Yeah, Megatron had run the thought to its natural conclusion, hadn’t he?

He didn’t deny it. He didn’t confirm it either, but he didn’t _deny_ it. 

Megatron took that as all the permission he needed, coming down the rest of the way and pressing their mouths together. Sideswipe’s optics blew wide, too shocked to even think about resisting when Megatron’s glossa pushed past his slack lips and pressed into his mouth.

He shivered from helm to pede. He knew what this felt like already, of course. Sunstreaker had experienced it enough times.

But it was still different to sit next to it and feel it through their spark than it was to experience it with _this_ frame. It was more physical, and less impressions, less emotion, less thought.

Just the pure unadulterated _experience_ of Megatron’s lips moving against his, his glossa thrusting languidly into his mouth until Sideswipe’s optics slipped shut and a little moan escaped him.

Megatron’s servos landed on his frame at that, on his waist, lifting and pushing him further onto the berth. The tyrant followed, never once breaking away from his mouth, just spreading Sideswipe’s legs for him and rising onto the berth between them.

Megatron did pull back when one of his servos landed on Sideswipe’s valve cover, and Sideswipe opened his optics in time to see the quirking of an optical ridge at him in what was an undeniable question. And Sideswipe knew what it said without hearing it.

_Was he going to retract, or was he not?_

Sideswipe grinned, and the panel snapped back. Megatron rumbled in amusement. “Not quite like your brother, are you?”

He wasn’t, no. Different parts of their spark and all that. So Sideswipe just shrugged demurely, then moaned again when Megatron wasted no time pushing two of his digits into his valve. He was nice like that, making sure to prepare either one of them, apparently. Considering their difference in size, it was welcome.

Plus, it felt _good._ Sideswipe fell back onto the berth the rest of the way, hitching his hips into the digits penetrating him. Megatron didn’t disappoint him, thrusting them in and out, spreading them and his calipers along with it, before he added third to an even greater stretch. Sideswipe caught his lower lip between his denta at just the hint of a sting at his entrance, but a little bit of pain had never discouraged him and he only rocked harder on the digits.

Megatron waited until his valve was coated in more than a sufficient amount of lubricant before he pulled his servo away, and Sideswipe spread his legs further and lifted his hips as Megatron released his spike–

And wasted no time pushing into Sideswipe.

A groan rose in Sideswipe’s throat. Megatron was swift with that first thrust, seating himself all the way until their groins were flush together, but then he held there as Sideswipe’s valve rippled and flexed, trying to adjust to the stretch pushing the physical boundaries of his frame.

But he was wet and he was ready and he was fragging _willing._ Sideswipe started moving before Megatron did, pushing his hips onto the warlord’s spike as if he could possibly take it any deeper. Megatron growled at him, a sound of _approval,_ and pulled back before thrusting right back in, harsh enough to generously rock Sideswipe’s frame on the berth.

He moaned anew and Megatron took that as the encouragement it was—pulled back, thrust in, but faster, and when Sideswipe still pressed into it all, he went faster yet.

The drag across his sensors was heaven, back and forth, repeating at a pace that quickly grew truly punishing, but that still managed to feel nothing but _good._ More lubricant collected in his valve until there wasn’t even _hope_ of chafing, just pleasure at the rough stimulation of what felt like every sensor in his valve. Sideswipe’s vents blew wide as Megatron kept rocking his hips, completely relentless in driving them both towards the highest skies. He didn’t feel particularly grounded in his frame anymore, not with the ratcheting of _ecstasy_ in his lines.

Sunstreaker had already come to the conclusion that Megatron fucked better than anyone they’d come across in a very long time. Sideswipe agreed with that sentiment with his whole frame now, moaning at every harsh thrust into his frame that wasn’t so different from how Megatron fragged Sunstreaker.

Because Sideswipe liked it rough too, and pits but he was _all_ in for this. “Fragging… So close,” he gasped after what really wasn’t long enough to _not_ feel embarrassed, but slaggit, sometimes ‘facing just was so good you couldn’t last no matter how much stamina you boasted to have.

Megatron rumbled at him, and the vibrations of the deep sound didn’t help _at all._ Sideswipe groaned, right on the cusp of one magnificent overload–

And then he fell into it headfirst, crying out as his frame snapped taut so fast it hurt, his hips _slamming_ against Megatron’s and charge spitting from his seams, arcing into Megatron. The tyrant’s pace faltered badly, Sideswipe could tell that much even over the noise drowning out his senses, but the tyrant still thrust three more times before seating himself deep and _hissing_ as overload overtook him too. Sideswipe’s vocalizer gave out when the excess charge only triggered another release in his own. He spat static, nothing more, his frame trembling. No, that was too pretty of a word for what it was. His armor _clattered_ as Megatron’s come wet his valve further, his frame so overtly sensitized that he could feel each and every pulse against his sensors.

His fans were spinning too hard and yet they didn’t feel to be doing much good. Megatron was panting too, above him, and Sideswipe willed his optics open after a considerable delay. He grinned up at the warlord. Usually he would’ve asked for round two right about now, but…

“No worse than your brother,” Megatron commented, and Sideswipe stilled for a second–

Before hitting the tyrant on the shoulder.

But it was with a laugh and a smile. “Fuck you.”


	8. Future on Hold

A few quiet days followed. Day by day they got to know the mecha that called themselves Decepticons, from the Seekers to the grounders, gestalts and the few solitary mechs that existed in their ranks. They couldn’t say they felt like they _belonged,_ not really—not yet—but… There was something painfully familiar in what the Decepticons were and how they conducted themselves. They brawled for the smallest of reasons, not in the vicious smackdown kind of way, but just to test each other to solve arguments and disagreements. Or just for fun. It wasn’t all contained to the training room.

That… Sat well with the brothers. It was _their_ knee jerk reaction too, as hard as it now was to give into it after spending the war with the Autobots drilling into them that violence wasn’t _acceptable._

Despite the fact there was a whole war going on, and that was inherently violent. But no, that was to be limited to the battlefield, and to training. 

The Decepticons clearly didn’t think the same. They didn’t go out of their way to injure each other, but punches were exchanged frequently, dents given rather freely. They were more savage in the training room too, from the times the twins went to watch them practice—from the times they were roped into the training themselves. The ‘Cons were eager to test their mettle without the risk of getting offlined in the process. Slag, they had a whole _queue_ of mecha waiting to fight them. Seekers, members of the combiner teams, mecha both big and small(ish).

The Seekers weren’t in their element on the ground, but the twins knew that didn’t mean they were _bad_ at hand to hand. They weren’t.

But they weren’t frontliners. They weren’t trained _specifically_ to take enemy on in close quarters, nor were they mecha with a background in the Pits. They were Vosians, proven soldiers, but not hulking gladiators or industrial workers. The twins could beat them.

They could beat most of the gestalt members, too. Swindle never stood a chance, Brawl fell to Sunstreaker, Blast Off as well, and the Stunticons sans Motormaster wanted to gang up on the both of them, only to end up all over the floors.

They were good. They knew they were, and they didn’t need to hold back near as much as they were used to in training. Don’t kill—almost everything else was fair game.

But… There were the likes of Motormaster, Onslaught, and the triplechangers too. Maybe they would’ve had chances against them if they’d fought together, but one on one Sideswipe didn’t stand a chance against Motormaster despite how good of a fight he put up. There were cheers and clapping as they went against each other, but in the end it was Sideswipe who ended up pinned to the floor—a position of certain death if this had been _real_ and no one else would’ve saved him in time. 

Sideswipe won against Astrotrain, but _barely,_ and only to end up back on the floor when he squared against Blitzwing.

Onslaught wanted to fight Sunstreaker, a challenge the twin _gladly_ accepted, and pits, but Sunstreaker fought _well._ Of course… He didn’t give it his _all._ Onslaught taunted him, asking after his glitch, said how he might even stand a chance if he gave in to it and fought him with all he had.

Sunstreaker growled but denied the gestalt leader, and like this, fighting without using the bit of an _extra gear_ he possessed… And he was _too good_ at what he did to be distracted when his spark surged with something that wasn’t _him._ It was small, but he could _feel_ it, riding on the rapid pulse of his own spark as the excitement of a proper fight coursed through him.

 _Someone else_ seemed to be appreciating it too.

Onslaught won, _eventually._ They were both venting hard by the end of it, both covered in injuries by the time Sunstreaker was tossed to the ground one final time and didn’t manage to get up and out of the way fast enough. 

“You’re competent,” Onslaught said to him from his position above him, his red optics bearing down on him with intent. “You would be an asset to the Decepticons if you fought.” Oh, didn’t he know that much. _Everyone_ knew it. 

Onslaught tilted his helm at him, his face unreadable on account that none of it was _visible,_ but his field had a curl of amusement in it that _really_ grated on Sunstreaker’s nerves. “Remember what I said,” the tank said in parting before getting off of him and walking off, leaving Sunstreaker to pick himself up from the floor.

He could only mean the whole matter of Sunstreaker’s _usefulness._ He snarled at Onslaught’s retreating back.

This was probably going to keep coming up, wasn’t it? They knew Megatron wanted them to fight even if he wasn’t pushing the matter— _yet_ —and what had he said to Sideswipe?

It wasn’t too late for them to really turn _Decepticon?_ Make up for the war they’d spent fighting for the _wrong side?_

Was it the wrong side?

It wasn’t the right side, that was for sure, but maybe there was no _right_ side. Only a side they _had_ belonged to, and the side they _should_ belong to. 

But he wasn’t ready to dedicate himself to that. He wasn’t ready to fight for another cause he didn’t believe in.

Why? Had it been any different with the Autobots? Fighting just for the sake of fighting, and not because they had any interest in forwarding Optimus’ cause?

Why wouldn’t he do that _again?_ Why did he suddenly want _meaning_ for why he fought?

That damn thought was going to haunt him for all eternity at this rate. Sideswipe was, once again, prattling away as they walked the ramps towards the belly of the ship, and if that didn’t give him flashbacks to similar trips taken in the Ark’s corridors, he didn’t know what would. Sideswipe was still Sideswipe, cheerful, chatty… But something was also unraveling in him. Not in a _bad_ way. More like a knot he’d had in him for so long finally beginning to undo itself.

Sunstreaker felt more like he had a knot forming, rather than one loosening.

Slag all of this. 

He was thinking too hard, he _thought_ once they’d closed themselves in their quarters for the evening. Sideswipe was happily playing some game or another on his datapad while Sunstreaker laid on their berth, his servos behind his helm, glaring at the ceiling as if the metal it was made of had personally offended him. It was getting late, but for as long as he was feeling this restless—not physically, but mentally—neither of them would get any recharge.

Sideswipe was perfectly fine with that, utterly entertained by the rpg he had picked up. Something about romancing an alien and shooting other aliens. The usual.

And they weren’t alone anymore, even as they were. That thought spun in his helm too. He didn’t feel it anymore, but it had definitely made itself known during his moment of greater excitement. 

Like he’d said to Thundercracker. Soon, with how many months it had already been since his ignition.

It appeared that _soon_ was here now.

They were both distracted and utterly unprepared for their door to suddenly swoosh open. Sideswipe glanced up in alarm and Sunstreaker shot to sitting. Megatron had always pinged before he opened the door to let himself in…

But it wasn’t Megatron. A figure far, far smaller traipsed into their room, the door closing on his heels. His visor glowed in the gloom, lighting the smooth grin underneath.

“Jazz?” Sideswipe asked incredulously, abandoning his game entirely. Sunstreaker frowned, but his confusion was quickly morphing into suspicion—and a hint of concern.

Jazz played the friendly game very well, but anyone with half a wit knew he was _dangerous._

“G’evening, my mechs,” the saboteur greeted them, not waiting for invitations of any sort before plopping himself onto the chair at their desk, folding his arms onto its backrest and facing them with that damned grin. It was about as permanent as Sideswipe’s. 

They’d always gotten along with Jazz. It was hard not to.

But Jazz was an _Autobot_ presently on a _Decepticon_ ship. “What are you doing here?” Sideswipe went on to ask in an urgent whisper. It was late enough that there wasn’t likely to be more than the skeleton crew online at this hour, and likely none of them on this deck of the ship, but pits. Did they want Jazz to be found, or did they not?

Would _they_ get in trouble if it became known Jazz was here?

Would they _be_ in trouble if they didn’t let it become known?

“I came to talk with ya,” Jazz replied frankly. “Boss bot, and really everyone else of the Command too, is… Kinda worried with the whole circumstance of ya leaving the ‘Bots.”

Sunstreaker scowled. “Optimus already talked with us about that,” he reminded with a snarl.

Of course, he knew exactly why the Autobots wouldn’t _believe_ what they’d said then, and Jazz went on to give that exact reason. “Wit’ ol’ Megs hoverin’ over your shoulder the whole time. Excuse if it’s hard t’believe ya were able to be wholly truthful.”

Sunstreaker rolled his optics. “I really didn’t and don’t give a slag he was there. I spoke the goddamn _truth.”_

Jazz didn’t react to that in any satisfying manner. “There’s no bugs or cam’ras here. Ya can speak freely.”

Sideswipe _guffawed_ of all things, and Sunstreaker dragged his servos down his face. “I’ve spoken freely every _fucking_ step of the way, alright? He’s never put any words in my mouth, ‘cause I fragging well wouldn’t _let_ him.”

“So ya really feel it’s best for ya to stay here, wit’ the ‘Cons?” Jazz asked carefully.

Sunstreaker growled again. They’d been _over_ this already, he didn’t really feel like repeating himself.

He did anyway, just so the slagging Autobots would leave him the frag alone. “Listen carefully because I’ve made my choice and I expect you lot to fucking respect it,” he snarled, jabbing a digit at Jazz. “Here’s how it is: the Autobot rank and file won’t want me back,” Jazz opened his mouth to say something, but Sunstreaker lifted his servo to silence him before he could speak, _“Don’t_ even try to interrupt me. You know it as much as I do.” Out of all the officers, Jazz was the one with his audial to the ground.

And Sunstreaker didn’t doubt he was right in this one thing, not after what the whole slagging _war_ had been like. “We were always outcasts, and now that’d reach a _whole_ new level because of what I did. We’d have no hope of _fitting in_ ever again, especially not after we didn’t manage to do that in the first place.”

Jazz stayed quiet now. Good. “Second, there’s the _sparkling._ The Autobots would treat it like crap. Maybe not everyone, but there’d be bound to be _several_ someones who wouldn’t be able to overlook who its _sire_ is.”

It still remained too, that Megatron wanted the damn thing, and looking how little he had let anyone stand in his way when it came to starting the whole war and whatnot… Yeah, he was going to have the sparkling.

Not that Sunstreaker disagreed that was the best course of action, anyway. “I’m not going to put it through the same shit I’ve dealt with ever since we joined the Autobots. It’s better off with Megatron.”

“You seriously believe that?” Jazz asked after Sunstreaker paused long enough that he had the chance. Sunstreaker glared, but the saboteur continued. “No offense, but it’s _Megatron._ I don’t know what exactly is going on between ya two, but don’t ya worry _at all_ that he’d mistreat it? Warp it? _Do who knows what to it?”_

Ah, yes, his _lover,_ the scourge of Cybertron and the most _evil_ fragging mech in existence, _right?_

But was there a chance Megatron would do something like that? Maybe, but Sunstreaker merely shrugged. “There’s a good chance he _won’t,_ too. It still has better fragging chances with Megatron than it does with the Autobots.” At least Megatron wanted it. The Autobots didn’t. The Autobots, aside from a few select individuals, didn’t want _him_ or _it._

Could he confirm that with _certainty?_ Of course not, without going to test it out for himself. 

But after spending the war with them, he had a pretty good idea of what the Autobots were like. He trusted his ability to make truthful predictions by now, based on their past actions. 

Jazz stayed quiet for a good moment, looking at them without any hint of what he was thinking. Sunstreaker maintained his glare on him even through his disquiet.

“Sunstreaker,” the TIC eventually said, looking more earnest than Sunstreaker had ever seen him. Though with Jazz, there was no knowing how _honest_ any of that was. Mech was an actor by trade. “Ratchet brought it up, and I think he might be right... That your carrier coding has activated and’s warping your thoughts.”

Sunstreaker growled, his optics flashing. _“Ratchet_ said that, huh?”

Jazz didn’t react to the threat he posed. “It’d make you predisposed to the sire.” _Would it really?_

And what, the Autobots _now_ believed that his thoughts were only there because of some strings of code taking control of him?

Was there any making them believe he thought this was for the _best?_ That he wasn’t acting, or affected by some slagged protocols that were twisting his thoughts and muddling his true judgment? 

He fragging well didn’t _feel_ like anything of the sort was going on. “What about Sideswipe? His frame’s not carrying,” Sunstreaker pointed out.

“Ratch didn’t know about that. He’s never ran into split-spark twins carrying before,” Jazz answered, and continued after the briefest of pauses that didn’t at all give Sunstreaker the time to say anything, “If ya’d let me check, I could confirm whether or not that’s the case in either of ya. Ratch also said that it’s possible yer so uh… Messed up, honestly, that the protocols ain’t activating at all.”

“I’m not letting you into my head,” Sideswipe said immediately, and Sunstreaker nodded along. It would’ve been questionable at any point in time, but especially now that they didn’t even belong to the same side.

“I only wanna help, twins,” Jazz said with feeling.

_Don’t trust it._

“Well, you’re not helping,” Sunstreaker snarled. “I’ve made my damn decision and I’d fragging well _appreciate_ if all of you started to fragging respect it,” he continued, but… _Slag._ One of his servos came to press against his helm, the… _Fog._ His thoughts ran into walls, rattling around in his head until he couldn’t make sense of them—as _emotion_ began to win over and his engine revved _harder._

Sideswipe was the one to speak up then. “If this comes up again,” his brother said quietly, but _firmly_ in a way that wasn’t much like him at all, “There _will_ be consequences for whoever brings it up. We’re staying here, the sparkling will stay with Megatron once it emerges, and that’s _final.”_

Jazz stayed quiet for a moment, and blessedly didn’t keep arguing the point. Sunstreaker cycled several ventilations, trying to steady and center himself.

He was rather successful with it, much to his personal pleasure.

“What will _ya_ do once the sparkling emerges?” Jazz still asked. Sunstreaker made a face, but was the one to respond.

“I don’t know yet, but whatever it is, it _won’t_ involve the Autobots.” He glowered at Jazz, like he hadn’t done enough of that yet.

Jazz nodded, slowly. “If yer sure.”

“I’m sure,” Sunstreaker snarled. “Now _get out_ before I let the whole ship know you’re here.”

“And make sure the command knows our stance. We won’t have any more of this. Gets old real fast, you know,” Sideswipe added, frowning himself.

Jazz nodded again, sighing. “If yer sure,” he repeated, getting up from the chair. “I’ll let Optimus an’ the others know—Ratch and ‘Hide too.”

Oh, fucking _low_ blow. The inside of Sunstreaker’s fragging helm _surged_ and so did his body flash off the berth. He found himself standing on the floor next to their berth without much memory of moving there.

At least Jazz had frozen in place, recognizing exactly what was happening and what a hazard it was. Oh, the TIC would have no trouble subduing him, but chances were he wouldn’t be able to do it quietly enough to not alert others to something being amiss. Sunstreaker didn’t know how he’d gotten aboard the ship, but no doubt he’d like to _leave_ as stealthily as he’d arrived. 

_“Out,”_ Sunstreaker ground out, and Sideswipe growled behind him too.

Jazz nodded one more time. “Take care,” was all he said before the door opened for him and he slipped out.

And gone he was.

Looked like he hadn’t been here to assassinate them after all.

Sunstreaker collapsed back onto the berth, clutching his helm in both servos. Sideswipe was scrubbing his servos along his face, puffing out an aggravated round of air.

Yeah, they couldn’t say they were too happy with this. Why were the Autobots so _insistent_ with this? Did the command, Prime at the helm, really think they had any desire to return? Couldn’t Optimus just believe that his troops weren’t as good and innocent as he would’ve liked them to be?

From the start that _wasn’t_ their experience with the red faction.

“Just kick their ass if they try again,” Sideswipe muttered at him. “I’ll help.”

Sunstreaker snorted. Yeah, that sounded good. Megatron would probably help them too.

Wasn’t that a thought, fighting together with the mech they’d _opposed_ the whole war. 

But things had changed.

By the pits how they’d _changed._


	9. Under Your Spell

_ Soundwave knows all. _

How true was that and how far did it extend? What did it  _ mean  _ in practice, besides just him having intel that he had no right to have?

Sunstreaker accompanied Sideswipe as his brother set out to explore that very matter (in a very limited extent). They found Soundwave in the comms room as seemed to be the usual. Ravage was present too, and Lazerbeak was perched on Soundwave’s shoulder. Rumble and Frenzy though, were nowhere to be seen, but whether that meant that they were elsewhere on the ship, off the ship, or in Soundwave’s chest, he didn’t know.

It wasn’t really relevant either. They only needed Soundwave.

Sunstreaker hung back while Sideswipe traipsed right on over to the blue mech and leaned on the console next to him—though mindful not to press any of the many buttons on it. “Hi,” his brother grinned at the Decepticon TIC, getting nothing more than a blank look for his trouble.

But that was about what they’d expected, so Sideswipe wasn’t discouraged in the slightest. “So, being a tape deck and all, do you happen to have any music that isn’t just the same old, same old Earth stuff?” the red twin asked. If anyone would have some, it’d be Soundwave, right? Sideswipe enjoyed quite a few Earth bands, but there were other worlds out there with their own auditory entertainment.

And more than that… There was  _ Cybertron  _ out there, as much as Sideswipe didn’t say so directly. Earth wasn’t  _ the  _ worst place to be, but they still missed  _ home  _ sometimes. 

They were in the presence of a telepath, though. Not everything needed to be spoken out loud for Soundwave to hear it anyway. The host inclined his helm, stayed still and silent for a while that the twins waited patiently during, before Sideswipe got a ping of a package that he accepted, briefly scanned and quickly opened.

It was full of songs. A whole load of songs.  _ Cybertronian  _ songs. Sideswipe didn’t recognize really any of them, but opened a few for inspection.

He nearly fell to the floor when they turned out to be  _ Kaonite  _ songs. There was no mistaking the harsh rhythms and heavy drums, the same stuff that had always played in bars and clubs—a reflection of the city, the constant hardship and fight for survival it was to just  _ live  _ there. The music was just as violent as the city itself.

And pits, but they hadn’t realized how much they’d missed that. It was their  _ home, _ no matter how dangerous it had been and how badly they’d gotten treated by it. It was the city that had spawned and forged them into their utterly  _ un-Autobot _ shape, and it was always a point of pride to have even survived life in it.

They were so far from home, but this… Was a piece of it. 

“Satisfactory?” Soundwave asked, and Sideswipe nodded mutely.

But then, “Jazz: visited you.”

Both twins froze, but there wasn’t much reason to wonder  _ how  _ Soundwave knew. Even if Jazz had managed to come and go without the telepath growing wiser to it—and that was a pretty big  _ if _ right there—all the telepath needed to do was read their minds to find out the whole deal.

And now they were  _ definitely  _ thinking about that whole incident, and Soundwave, as well as Ravage and Lazerbeak, were all staring at them. Very much for Soundwave to read.

Nevertheless, Sideswipe nodded again to confirm it. 

Soundwave stayed quiet for a moment too long, and that was all the time to cook up wonderful scenarios of what might go down next. They had entirely failed to mention an Autobot had infiltrated the ship. Why? Because they still cared about the Autobot side? Or about Jazz specifically? Mech had been their friend, kinda.

He was a big ass risk too though, not just for them, but everyone else aboard too. That couldn’t look good for them.

But whatever Soundwave saw… He eventually just turned away. “Satisfactory,” he repeated, but this time it wasn’t a question.

Did that mean they were off the hook?

Maybe, maybe not, but Sideswipe still shook himself off. “Cool?” he said, though it came out more as a question, but… Soundwave didn’t do or say anything else.

Probably meant this matter was settled, at least for now.

Back to the original reason they’d come here, with just a little more anxiety over what the future might bring now that Soundwave knew (if he hadn’t always known).

There had been speakers in the rec room.

Sunstreaker moved out of the way when his brother bolted for the doorway. Sideswipe was already through it and two steps into the direction of the rec room before he remembered his manners and bounced back to the door, throwing a quick, “Thanks!” through it.

You know, for the music. Not for the scare of knowing about their illicit visitor.

And then he ran off. Sunstreaker went after him without much less speed. Of course his brother would want to show off a bit—show a bit of  _ their  _ culture, the one the Autobots had always denied and stomped all over as nothing but the savagery of  _ lesser  _ mecha. 

Would the Decepticons? He doubted it.

They were quick to fly through the hallways and to the rec room, almost all optics there looking up when they skidded into the room. Sideswipe went straight to the back of it where the speakers were, and connected to them. The music was quickly scanned so he knew what it was, the rhythm of it, before he put it to play. A grin spread over his face as the beat of the first song began to play from the speakers.

“Why did no one tell me Soundwave has Kaonite music?” he hollered over the song to the room at large to a few exclamations of, “We didn’t know you wanted Kaonite music!” worded in slightly different ways depending on whose vocalizer it was coming from.

Well, that was alright. They had their music now. Sideswipe’s grin widened before he—like the attention whore he was—began to move to the music, doing little more than nodding and swaying along at first while he tried to get his bearings. The Autobots absolutely hadn’t had music like this, or else no one had ever given them it.

The Autobots had wanted to strip their past from them, replace what they’d known with everything  _ they’d  _ wanted of them. 

This, too, they hadn’t had in so long. Even the Pits had had music, dancing.

The song started slower, calmer, giving few hints for what was to come, but everyone in the room who had heard the music of their city—and it was probably the vast majority of them—had to know it wouldn’t stay that way.

And it didn’t. The beat rose in the span of a few seconds and turned true to what  _ Kaon  _ offered.

It offered death and violence, suffering and struggle, and the only reward on the other side was that you were still  _ alive, _ trekking in the dirt and grime that covered the city from the lowest decks to the highest towers.

It had been too long, but it was  _ theirs. _ Their past, their home, their culture, no matter how the Autobots had tried to take it all from them. It was ingrained somewhere deep in their spine, and Sideswipe hadn’t  _ forgotten. _ It took him a few moments, sure… But then he started to  _ move. _

_ Violent. _ That was the one word that summarized what  _ dancing  _ to Kaonite music was  _ supposed  _ to look like, and Sideswipe had never been a bad dancer. Not among the Autobots either, but this here… This here was their natural element. Their upbringing.

_ Them. _

The beat of the music was heavy, so was the impact of Sideswipe’s pedes on the deck. His optics were closed, there was a smile on his face—not one of those empty grins he wore all the time, but a  _ genuine  _ one speaking volumes of how much he was enjoying this. Expressing himself in all the right ways, holding nothing back.

_ Fuck the Autobots. _ Fuck what they’d tried to make them. Fuck them for trying to make them deny themselves every step of the way.

Through every savage spin, every strike of his pedes against the floor, the clang of it that timed itself just right to the music because  _ Sideswipe knew how… _ His field danced around him, blown wide to let every spectator know how much he loved this.

Mecha got up and began to gather around Sideswipe, curious, though giving him plenty room, never straying closer to him than what Sunstreaker did—and Sunstreaker stood off to the side, his spark fluttering with Sideswipe’s enjoyment.

And it wasn’t as if Sideswipe’s half was the only one to appreciate this. Sunstreaker‘s did too. 

Their spark danced as well… As did a little something  _ more _ as well. Sunstreaker raised one of his servos to his chestplates, rubbing over his spark chamber—over his scratched out  _ Autobot  _ insignia—unable to deny the little something flaring along with his spark. It enjoyed itself as much as they enjoyed themselves. His emotions reflected in it as it tested out what it was like to  _ feel. _

_ This  _ was what it was like to feel, to feel the music pound through their lines, to feel their fuel pump join the rhythm, to  _ move  _ to it and forget everything else just for the time—work hard, play hard, as it’d always been. The miners toiled under the lived-in decks only to come up when they had free time, populate the bars and the clubs, wasting what little credits they had… Gladiators, the ones allowed to leave the arenas, getting up to much of the same. They danced, they sang, they  _ fucked  _ with the kind of abandon of mecha who knew they could die tomorrow, so let’s make the most of  _ today. _

A heavy field entered the room and Sunstreaker glanced towards the doorway to see Megatron walking in, Starscream trailing after him and Thundercracker after Starscream. Was there a bit of curiosity in Megatron’s expression? Drawn here by all the noise?

The warlord walked to the crowd that had gathered to watch Sideswipe. His soldiers stepped out of his way to allow him to the very front. It was definitely curiosity on his face, muted, but there. Sideswipe opened his optics, focusing on Megatron and grinning. Then he stilled and reached his arm, palm up, inviting the tyrant to join him.

Megatron was Kaonite too, wasn’t he? He should know how.

There was a moment of stillness in the room while everyone waited for what he would do, what his answer would be–

And it was a bit unexpected when Megatron  _ did  _ step forward and walked over to Sideswipe. His brother was practically vibrating with anticipation, moving in place restlessly,  _ dying  _ to join the music again. He still waited while Megatron listened to the music for a moment, catching onto the rhythm–

And then he  _ moved, _ one pede forward, and Sideswipe moved one pede  _ back, _ and that was all there was before Megatron took the lead. He broadcasted every move before he made it, but they were all  _ familiar, _ and Sideswipe knew exactly how to match each of them. He didn’t have to think when Megatron led him through every motion, whether flowing or sudden—the clash of pede against the deck that vibrated under their combined strength, and the clash of palm against palm when they brought their servos together in a fleeting point of contact between them… The spins, the turns, the sudden reversal of your motion until your frame  _ ached. _

How long had it been since they’d felt  _ this? _ The sensation, both physical and that of the spark and mind as you were led through a  _ dance  _ that sometimes emulated controlled fighting in its savagery when one wrong move would have landed dents on the other.

But Megatron knew what he was doing, and so did Sideswipe. There were no dents, just the exhilarating close calls that were intended to be no more than just that: close calls, motions that were aborted and rewound  _ inches  _ from your partner—if you had the skill.

Megatron did. Sideswipe did too, even if Megatron did most of the work now, Sideswipe merely the one that answered the orders Megatron gave with his body. They went fast, they went heavy, just like it was supposed to go, and Sunstreaker’s vents threatened to seize every few moments from the sheer  _ excitement  _ of it. His spark pulsed fast, pulling the little one into its rejoicing.

And it was rejoicing. It was finding a part of themselves again, a part of the culture they had always been proud of and had never  _ wanted  _ to bury. But who among the Autobots would have known to dance like  _ this, _ willingly risking injuries with a partner so much larger and stronger than you were? Jazz, maybe, that mech knew far too much about everything and hid far too many skills under his friendly facade.

But who among the Autobots would have  _ accepted  _ this, a piece of what was so inherently  _ Decepticon? _ So inherently Kaon, where the whole damn  _ enemy  _ faction had come from.

Sideswipe was crying, in a way. Tears were running down his face even as he responded to every single move Megatron made, but it wasn’t pain, it wasn’t sadness.

Just happiness, and that  _ knot  _ in him… It unraveled further. This was staying true to themselves and the past they had never wanted to be ashamed of—and hadn’t ever been, really, no matter how many times they were told they should hate it,  _ apologize  _ for it, see the error of their ways,  _ redeem  _ themselves. 

Not here. There were smiles around them, some knowing, others just entertained. No judgment.

Sideswipe’s fans were whirring fast by the time Megatron stepped away from, only to–

Turn to  _ Sunstreaker. _ And like Sideswipe had invited Megatron, Megatron now invited  _ him, _ arm reached, palm up. 

Sideswipe grinned behind the warlord before quietly slipping to join the sidelines. Sunstreaker only waited long enough to fake  _ consideration, _ but from the beginning… There was no question on what he wanted to do.

He stepped forward and placed his far smaller servo onto Megatron’s. It closed around his, and just like that Megatron tugged him over, Sunstreaker going without any  _ undue  _ resistance. He was released only after he stood in front of Megatron, and _ off they were. _ Megatron took the lead again, as if he was used to always taking  _ control _ —and he probably was. And Sunstreaker knew just as well as Sideswipe how to respond to all of it, when to move back, when to the side, when forward, when to turn his frame, when to meet Megatron’s palm with his own and  _ where. _

But Sunstreaker also knew how to turn the tables.  _ He  _ was the one that forced Megatron to retreat lest he break their dance,  _ he  _ became the one that directed the course of things, the one that  _ led. _

Megatron narrowed his optics at him, knowing  _ exactly  _ what he was doing. Sunstreaker’s mouth tugged into a smile, even more so when Megatron followed one motion of his only to throw it right back in his face and force  _ him _ to follow unless he really wanted to get hit.

His fans were soon whirring just as hard as Sideswipe’s, his optics darkening as someone raised the volume of the music until it  _ thumped  _ through the air and throughout his frame. The sparklet pulsed urgently at him, demanding  _ more  _ of this, of the  _ excitement  _ that created a true storm in his spark—the experience of  _ fighting  _ Megatron once again, even if not in quite the same way he had before.

Back and forth, back and forth they traded their leadership, losing and reclaiming it in one rousing  _ battle  _ of wills—that Sunstreaker eventually admitted defeat on, when his frame began to betray him a bit too much for him to fully trust it anymore. Megatron, victorious, like he always was, led him even through the distraction of his  _ titillation. _

Sideswipe grinned as he watched it all, flying on the high of their spark. This was… Better than he’d ever dared to hope. He had never forgotten Kaon, had never stopped considering it his  _ home, _ the place where he’d always… Belonged, almost. 

He’d all but lost hope that he’d ever get even a fraction of it back, though. If the Autobots won, he could only imagine how thoroughly they’d try to wipe that aspect of their planet and species right off the map, because it was  _ that  _ that had given birth to the rebellion that had risen to threaten the Primacy. In that event, what would he have been except stuck with the reality and future the  _ Autobots  _ wanted to build?

_ But it didn’t have to be like that. _ They could have this, too. They could fight to make  _ this  _ the future.

Did they want to?

There was one sour face in the midst of it all, though. Starscream hung back, his face held in a firm scowl. 

But, extremely handily, Thundercracker was only a few steps away from Sideswipe, and the twin weaseled his way over to the Seeker to end up next to him. Thundercracker gave him a questioning look, but didn’t shoo him off. 

There was little hope of talking out loud with all the rhythmic noise filling the room, so Sideswipe employed short range comms instead. ::Why’s Starscream look like he tried to eat a lemon?::

Thundercracker glanced in the direction of his trine leader, then chuckled. ::He’s jealous,:: the Seeker grinned, and apparently now it was fully confirmed that Starscream just did not like the amount of attention Megatron was giving Sunstreaker.

But Thundercracker continued, ::Plus, Sunstreaker  _ dares  _ to be better at something than he is.::

Sideswipe laughed at that. ::The dancing?::

::Yeah.::

It made sense. Why would a Vosian know how to dance in the Kaonite style as well as a born and bred Kaonite did, if they knew how to dance in that style at all? And their wings would’ve been bound to get in the way, too.

Poor Starscream, getting outdone by a pretty frontliner way below him in rank. Didn’t sit too well with him, apparently. 

Sideswipe’s attention was drawn back to the dancing pair when Megatron pulled Sunstreaker against himself. That really wasn’t part of the usual moves, but Sunstreaker was venting hard and they were staring at each other in the optic pretty intently.

Sideswipe’s grin widened. ::Those two are gonna head somewhere more private right about now.::


	10. A Feeling Game

At first it was only when he was _emoting_ particularly strongly that he could feel it. Thrill, anger, joy… Those made it react and rouse to pay attention. He… Didn’t dislike the feeling, that sensation of being even less alone in his own frame than he already was by virtue of sharing his spark with Sideswipe. Sideswipe was always present in his every thought and action.

The sparklet wasn’t, not yet, but it was big and strong enough to make itself known with enough _oomph_ from his own spark.

Hook said it would be good for its development and growth to excite it—encourage it to respond to his emotions and start creating ones of its own. The medic also made note of the fact his carrier protocols had indeed activated, although in the mess of Sunstreaker’s helm, Hook couldn’t make heads or tails of how much and what they were actually affecting. Were they even working as they were supposed to?

Ratchet likely would’ve known. 

But rousing the sparklet to aid in its growth… That Sunstreaker could do. Out of the strong enough emotions that accomplished the task, _thrill_ was the easiest to get. Anger, too, but anger left everyone around him bloody.

Thrill was considerably safer. He spent time in the training room, fighting mecha or groups of mecha that could genuinely _challenge_ him. That was thrill, to give it most of you, without the certainty that it would be _enough._ Sunstreaker wasn’t quite sure if he should be surprised or not that many a ‘Con volunteered for that excitement method. It got them beat up, but then again, it was also a chance to beat _Sunstreaker_ up, and he was sure there were some grudges held from how many times he and Sideswipe had made these mecha regret existing, as much as those didn’t rise to the surface too often—safer _for them_ that way, anyhow. Why would they give up the chance for a little payback?

The sparkling very much enjoyed that, both the times he won, and the times he lost, and oh, but it _loved_ the process to either outcome. He wasn’t sure how much of what was happening it understood, how much his spark was feeding it information of what his frame was experiencing, but however much it was… The end result was that the sparklet all but _bounced_ in its rotation, pulsing and flaring in response to _every_ flicker of emotion in his own spark. The pain and disgruntlement of a hit received, the satisfaction of a hit landed, the exhilaration of dodging an attack with not an inch to spare… Weapons, no weapons. Dents, torn plating, _blood._

It was what Sunstreaker lived for, and it looked like the little one was _taking after him_ a little bit there. 

But it wasn’t the only thing he could do to get it to respond. There were some Seekers crazy enough to let Sideswipe and him on their backs, and those were chances for what could only really be called _aerial acrobatics._ It wasn’t jet judo if you weren’t tearing someone’s wings off, but there was plenty of holding onto Seekers, jumping off of them, freefalling, landing either on another Seeker, into his brother’s arms, or the _very_ hard ground. 

That was thrill too, what with the tiny margin for error and the painful punishment when you failed. The closest act he could use to describe what the sparkling pulsed at him then, was _laughter._

And sometimes he got the distinct feeling it was laughing _at him_ for hitting the ground a little too hard and rattling his entire substructure, his spark in its chamber included. Little bastard.

Then there was Megatron, too. The fact the damn mech excited _him_ hadn’t changed at all. He made his spark rotate too fast, fragging _teased_ him just by existing, and pits, when he got the tyrant’s attention, little else continued to matter. What they did wasn’t illicit anymore. He wasn’t an Autobot fraternizing with the enemy. He was just _Sunstreaker_ in rather heated relations with Megatron. There was no side he belonged to, just one warlord that really had more of an effect on him than was even slagging _fair._

It never changed that Megatron was stellar in berth. Neither did it ever change that Sunstreaker denied him every step of the way, only for Megatron to ignore all of that and do what he willed.

And it never stopped driving Sunstreaker higher than he’d ever been in his goddamn life. The _strength_ Megatron possessed… Both frame and mind, the tyrant was power personified, and quite often Sunstreaker became the target of _that_ mech. 

His frame never complained about it, no matter how he ran his vocalizer. Neither did his spark ever complain even if Megatron was sometimes _infuriating_ enough to earn genuine flares of anger.

“Let the slag go of me or so help me I’ll gouge your fragging _optics_ out,” Sunstreaker _snarled,_ pulling on his arm, only to the effect of Megatron tightening his hold and bending it further behind his back. The groan that rose from the twin’s vocalizer wasn’t one of _pleasure_ despite that roaring through his frame. It was just pain, the strain on his shoulder far beyond comfort.

But that only fanned the flames and the air his vents blasted ran even hotter. It helped none that Megatron was bending over him, the heat from his frame blanketing Sunstreaker and denying him cool air. It helped even less that Megatron was far from done with him, his spike hammering _deep_ into his valve in a steady rhythm that set his sensors ablaze, sore shoulder or not. 

Sunstreaker buried his face into the berth, shuddering from pleasure and pain both until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. He grit his denta from the low level damage warnings his shoulder was sending him, but he also ground them from a harsh thrust that hit the nodes at the very ceiling of his valve and sent a zap of _ecstasy_ through his frame.

Damn Megatron was always doing this to him. It didn’t matter how many times or how many ways, the fragging just blew his mind every time. You’d have thought he’d be getting used to it by now, but was there any getting used to the way Megatron pounded into him like no one else had before him? Not even the miners or the other gladiators he’d ‘faced _back in the day_ had managed what Megatron managed.

And also, none of them had started a revolution or _led_ the way through a bloody war that followed.

...Yeah, he wasn’t going to get used to this anytime soon.

“Can you feel it?” Megatron growled in his audial, sending another shiver down his spine. Sunstreaker didn’t need to ask what he was referring to. The _it_ was curiously following the swell and bloom of his spark as pleasure and aggravation swamped him, warring for which one would get to be the one to direct his actions.

“Yes,” he hissed back. As per usual, when he was in this position.

“What is it feeling?” Megatron asked next, pressing him more firmly into the berth to lay into him with even greater strength ahead of his overload.

Which was all well and good because Sunstreaker had been holding back his own release for the last _while,_ out of sheer spite. He didn’t want to give Megatron the fragging satisfaction.

But it was getting really hard to do that and his frame was screaming for some _deliverance._

“Enjoying itself,” Sunstreaker managed to groan out. And that was exactly what the sparklet was doing right then. He, again, got the distinct feeling that the damn thing was _laughing_ at him and his many conflicting emotions, while curiously basking in the euphoria that was muddling everything else. Strong emotions, _positive_ emotions—well, mostly, aside from his well deserved irritation—much like the ones it toyed with when he sparred or fell all over the skies. He was feeling, it was feeling in response to his feeling–

And Megatron rumbled above him, apparently amused just like the sparklet. Right. That was probably where it had gotten _that_ from.

Then Megatron slammed in one more time, and Sunstreaker couldn’t fragging _take it_ anymore, charge exploding in his frame to a scream he luckily managed to largely muffle against the berth top. His spark flared and the sparkling bobbed on the tide of the ocean deep satiation that followed, pulsing more of that _I like this, this is funny, I want more_ at him, like it did every time else that he managed to call its little emotions forward, regardless of how he did it—at least because all of those had been positive experiences, so far. 

From his focus on it he barely noticed Megatron coming himself before his valve registered the pulses of his transfluid and more charge _hit_ him, sending him straight into another screaming fit as his frame decided now would be the perfect time to overload a second time. He felt a bit strutless on the other side. Megatron, not so much. His pace picked back up and Sunstreaker groaned into the berth as _pleasure_ and _charge_ began to build in him all over again.

The tyrant would absolutely have lost his optics if Sunstreaker had had any energy left in him by the end of it. Definitely self defense on Megatron’s part. Just frag him silly to the goddamn point where he couldn’t do shit anymore!

Yeah, _definitely_ self defense.

Sunstreaker gave Megatron’s back the middle finger when the warlord simply walked off and out of the room, leaving him leaking all manner of fluids on the berth.

And the sparkling all but cackled. _If only_ he could’ve flipped it off too.

* * *

His _hard_ work paid off before too long. It started with the sparklet just needing less stimulus to start harassing him, until eventually it showed its awareness almost constantly, and then fully constantly, becoming a companion as steady as Sideswipe. It was quick to feel and quick to respond to everything his spark passed to it, bouncing on his highs and deflating at his lows.

It was a strange feeling, as much as he’d had the time to get used to it through the gradual process that had led to this stage. It wasn’t quite the same as it was with Sideswipe. Unlike him and Sideswipe, the sparkling had a will of its own. Its emotions didn’t always make sense to him, like Sideswipe’s did.

It was becoming its own little being _separate_ from him, something he and Sideswipe just could never be.

But its progress heralded some _other_ things too. The fact it would eventually need a frame, for one.

Megatron was present this time around too, curious over the sparkling’s development. Sunstreaker idly swung his legs, sitting on the edge of one of the berths in Hook’s repair bay, as the somewhat medic scanned him like he did regularly at this point. Sideswipe was hanging off to the side too, trying to combat his boredom. Sunstreaker couldn’t disagree that this was getting kinda old.

“The sparkling is growing as it should,” Hook said like he said _every_ damn time. And just as often he commented on it being strong for its age. But come on, look who had made it! Sunstreaker didn’t kid himself into thinking his and Sideswipe’s spark wasn’t powerful; they would’ve never survived its splitting if it wasn’t. And there was no questioning or denying _Megatron’s_ strength. 

Put those two together and _of course_ you were going to get something that was also strong.

But then there was a deviation from the norm that had both of the twins focusing back on the present right away. “We’ll have to use protoform mass for its frame. Now’s about the time to start with that.”

 _“What?”_ Sunstreaker snarled, straightening just like Sideswipe. Sunstreaker glared at Hook, but Sideswipe’s optics were drawn to Megatron. The tyrant didn’t look surprised.

“Why can’t its frame just be built?” he asked, trying and utterly failing at keeping himself from being all _growly._

Hook wasn’t perturbed, though, but it was Megatron who answered. Sunstreaker’s optics snapped to him when the warlord spoke up, “Only Shockwave has the necessary skill to build frames from scratch, and he has more _important_ things to do.”

 _Important?_ “More important than your goddamn _sparkling?”_ That came out as a total growl too. Well, everyone could just deal with it.

Megatron narrowed his optics at him. “When there is a perfectly functional alternative method, yes.”

“Oh fucking _lovely,”_ Sunstreaker groaned, dragging both of his servos down his face. He should’ve seen this coming, honestly, instead of just living in the ignorant, happy expectation that they’d just build its frame externally.

“Naturally I want to contribute to the sparkling’s code as much as plausible,” Megatron continued, and Sunstreaker parted his digits enough to glower at him before dropping his servos from his face entirely.

“Of course you do,” he muttered ahead of raising his volume back to normal levels, “What, mine not good enough?”

Sideswipe became the next target of his glare when his brother outright laughed. “You’re a glitched mess!”

“Is he any fragging better?” Sunstreaker snarled, gesturing at Megatron. Neither of them was exactly the perfect picture of normalcy, were they?

 _Granted,_ Sunstreaker was probably the worse off between the two of them. He didn’t know of any actual glitches Megatron would have had and could only guess towards the kind of _weirdness_ a life like his could have twisted his coding into. 

Meanwhile it was very well known Sunstreaker was irreparably insane and long ways from what he would’ve been if his programming had functioned at all like it should’ve.

“It will be even better with the influence of _both_ of us,” Megatron snarled at him, and… Well, yeah, Megatron was a mech beyond formidable. So was Sunstreaker, but if you _combined_ what made the two of them great, spark and frame both?

Why did the slagging mech need to have a perfectly valid point? “I hate you,” he grumbled, just so no one forgot that little fact. 

“Do that as much as you please,” Megatron responded, rolling his optics. “I don’t think it needs to be said you’ll interface with no one else.”

Ah yes, all the plentiful fragging in his future thanks to this, that he was only supposed to do with Megatron because Megatron was a possessive ass bastard that apparently wanted to keep the sparkling just between them? _“And if I do?”_ Sunstreaker asked, because slag if that wasn’t one tempting thought. Just to rub it in the tyrant’s face. It was still his damn frame, wasn’t it? His right to choose what he did with it?

Except for all the times Megatron had said he wouldn’t allow him to do just whatever he wanted while he was still carrying. 

He got a glare for his trouble, one of those really dark ones that sent a shiver down even Sunstreaker’s spine. And… That was probably all the answer anyone would need. Megatron didn’t need to make verbal threats to be threatening.

If he got off with just a hardcore physical beating if he pulled a stunt like that, he could probably count himself infinitely lucky.

Not that he was in a hurry to interface with anyone else for any other reason than to spite the warlord. The fragging with Megatron was _perfectly_ satisfactory and he really didn’t think there was anyone out there who could’ve made it better. So, he’d be looking for something that might not even _exist._

Hook cleared his vocalizer. “Are we in an agreement now?”

Sunstreaker glared at Megatron for a moment longer before he turned to glare at the opposite wall instead. Megatron was the one who answered with a firm, _“We are.”_

 _Fragger._ He’d get what was coming for him one day still, and that would be delivered by Sunstreaker. 

“Then, if you’d lay back for me, Sunstreaker,” Hook instructed, sounding and looking more than a little disinterested in their squabbling. Sideswipe came closer, curious over the process.

Sunstreaker blasted a round of very aggravated air from his vents before he did as he was told, lifted his pedes onto the berth and laid down on it. Hook disappeared for a very short while before he returned with a container of _something._ Couldn’t be anything other than the protoform mass. 

The Constructicon set it aside but within reach and plugged into the medical port at the back of Sunstreaker’s helm. Sunstreaker followed the path he took as he shifted through his transformation commands until he found all of the right ones.

First came a familiar sequence. His chestplates were triggered to open, baring his internals, and that was that. 

Then came the unfamiliar. “I’ll expand your gestation chamber now,” Hook said, and that was all the warning he got before the medic did just that. The many parts in his chassis shifted around in a way he hadn’t even thought possible, creating an empty space right below his spark chamber. On a strictly impersonal level he’d always known his gestation chamber was there, bunched into a tiny ball to take up as little space as possible when it wasn’t in use.

But _knowing_ and _experiencing_ were two very different things, and now he got to _experience_ just what it felt like to put that component in use. He could feel it flexing as it was provided with more room, before it unfurled entirely and used up _all_ of the space available to it, pressing against his other internals rather uncomfortably. Megatron moved closer too, staring into his chassis the same way Sideswipe did, and Sunstreaker glared at the tyrant some more for good measure. If it wasn’t for him he wouldn’t have needed to know what the slag coding a protoform with his own frame felt like.

He wasn’t sure that was really one of the things he would’ve wanted to learn about at any point. 

Hook triggered one more transformation and the expanded gestation chamber opened. “Now I’ll insert the protoform mass itself,” Hook was _nice enough_ to tell before he picked up the container he’d fetched and opened it. Sunstreaker looked with some level of distant horror as the medic began to carefully pour it into the open cavity that was his gestation chamber right then. It was like goop, mostly, at least from the looks of things.

Sideswipe would’ve really wanted to reach out and touch it, but refrained. Sunstreaker sympathized.

Hook was slow and cautious not to let any spill over to places the mass wasn’t supposed to go, but he filled his gestation chamber to the brim before he was satisfied. Once Sunstreaker could _definitely_ feel the increased weight in him, the medic grew satisfied with the amount, and his gestation chamber was told to close. It did so, safely closing the protoform mass within itself. Hook briefly wiped a cloth over the surrounding area, as certain as Sunstreaker was that he hadn’t actually let anything spill, before his chestplates were prompted to close as well.

“That’s that,” Hook told him, unplugging from him and stepping back. Sunstreaker carefully pushed himself to sitting, and… It definitely took more effort than usual. Not horribly much so, but the added weight in his chassis was undeniable. “How do you feel?” the medic asked from him.

“Stuffed,” Sunstreaker replied honestly, bringing one of his servos to rub across his chestplates. The sparkling was prodding at him and at his disquiet while he tried to gather his bearings and get used to what he’d have to deal with for a while now. 

“That feels weird,” Sideswipe commented, stepping forward to poke Sunstreaker’s chestplates. Not that there were any external signs of the whole thing, just the internal feeling of extremely uncomfortable _fullness_ and weight.

“You’ll get used to it,” Hook dismissed all of that entirely, and wandered off not to be seen again, just like that.

And this was a thing now. Fucking _swell._

“I will never forgive you for this,” Sunstreaker promised, shifting his optics from Hook’s retreat to Megatron. Annnnd _glare._

The tyrant didn’t look too impressed. “I don’t need you to. Come.”

“Come where? _Slag off.”_

“My quarters,” Megatron growled at him, and snatched _Sideswipe_ by the back of his neck. His brother yelped when he was dragged to the door, and out of it.

Sunstreaker suddenly found the motivation to get on his pedes, taking a few seconds to find his balance with his heavier chassis, and then jog after Megatron. “Hey! You fragging feces, let go of him!”

Megatron paid him absolutely _no_ heed. They passed by a few ‘Cons on the tyrant’s march to his quarters, Sunstreaker fuming as he followed with some additional effort because Megatron did nothing to take their shorter stride into account. They got some pretty amused looks.

Megatron completely ignored those too, and so did Sunstreaker. Mostly. There might’ve been a few glares.

Sideswipe was unceremoniously tossed onto Megatron’s berth once they reached the warlord’s spacious quarters. Sunstreaker followed them into the room, intent on finding some way to punch the damned despot straight in his face despite having no way to reach him from the floor. He could get on the berth too though, couldn’t he? He’d reach him from there. 

That was a plan, but he’d need to get on the berth first. Unfortunately approaching the berth also put him closer to _Megatron,_ and although he didn’t quite go in grabbing range, the warlord was still fast to close the distance between them. Sunstreaker jerked to get out of the way, but not quickly enough, _and what do you know,_ he ended up on the berth and swiftly pinned against it.

You know, because he hadn’t had enough of that already.

His cussing didn’t discourage Megatron one bit, like it hadn’t any time before either. Lovely shit. Sideswipe was grinning and completely unhelpful as Megatron pressed Sunstreaker down by the back of his neck, his hold heavy enough that there was no way he could’ve broken free from it.

He tried anyway.

As predicted, it didn’t work.

“Will you open for me, _dear?”_ Megatron snarled at him, his other servo coming to the seams of his valve cover.

Sunstreaker growled right back and stubbornly kept the goddamn cover closed. Megatron gave him ample time to change his mind.

He didn’t.

The cover came off forcibly.

And like usual, it was Megatron’s digits first that stabbed into his valve, and like usual, they encountered quite more than _little_ lubricant. He thrust them in and out until Sunstreaker was biting his denta together to silence his moans, his servos balling into fists and his whole damn frame responding to the tyrant just like it always did.

Frag the mech for turning him on _every_ time. It was like all he needed to do was give him one look and his frame started to prepare itself.

Frag his frame for good measure.

That was just what was going to happen right now, wasn’t it? Megatron pulled his digits out and Sunstreaker’s hips twitched after them before he could stop himself, but soon after something considerably bigger nudged against the opening of his valve. “Let’s get started with this, shall we?” Megatron growled at him before shoving all the fragging way in, pulling a hoarse cry from Sunstreaker as the full length of his valve was suddenly spread _wide_ open. Apparently the tyrant really was intent on leaving his mark on the sparkling’s future frame. 

How many more times did that mean he’d be in this very same position, with Megatron quickly setting a pace that would’ve had lesser mecha begging for some mercy?

That only had Sunstreaker bite his glossa and _still_ fail to stifle all of his moans?

Pits, he was looking forward to _every_ last time of those. His vents opened to do their useless part in cooling his frame as Megatron pressed him tighter into the berth, bent over him, slagging _abused_ him in all the best ways.

And Sunstreaker hitched his hips back into every thrust that left his aft sore, spreading his legs for better purchase and just for the moment _lived_ for each entry into his frame, vile in their violence. _This_ was interfacing, _this_ was pleasure, and he wouldn’t have it _any_ other way, not now, not ever when Megatron drove him to the crest of his overload and he fell headfirst into it, his vocalizer fritzing to nothing but static as the charge burst from his core with strength that left him aching. Megatron growled above him, _possessive,_ when he reached his own overload and shot his transfluid into his valve—where it would be gathered and used by his frame to _influence_ the sparklet’s to-be frame.

Megatron pulled out only to flip him over, pressing him into the berth by his _throat_ this time before lifting his hips and striking back in, starting a pace that was no lesser than that of the round before. Sunstreaker bared his denta at him, the tyrant’s burning gaze bearing down on him—and him, meeting it, because he’d never shied away from it and he wasn’t planning to _ever_ start with that. His engine revved, both of their engines did in whatever fragging _melody_ of ever soaring pleasure as he was herded towards his _next_ overload.

And more after that, for as long as it took to satisfy Megatron that he’d done his part of the day in _contributing_ to the little one. 

Off to the side, Sideswipe pulled out his gaming pad and streamed its sound directly into his audials.


	11. Bring a Little Heaven

There was only so much social contact Sunstreaker could handle before he needed to retreat somewhere more private and recharge his social batteries, as it was. Sideswipe didn’t come with the same requirement, but their draw to be together was stronger even than his brother’s desire for the company of outsiders. 

As such, when Sunstreaker had skulked back into their quarters in the middle of the day after a far too active morning in the rec room, Sideswipe had followed. Now all they did was bask in each other’s company, Sideswipe once again playing his games, Sunstreaker laying on his back on their berth, one servo behind his helm, the other tossing a knife in the air and catching it after it fell back down. Then toss again.

“You’ll get that embedded in your face if you keep that up,” Sideswipe commented without looking up from his screen. Sunstreaker snorted.

“Don’t you trust me?” he asked, his mouth drawing into a grin. Come on, he wasn’t so bad at this that he would’ve made rookie errors like that.

But that didn’t mean the chance didn’t exist, and it was just the right amount of tension. The sparkling was _vibrating_ at it, hungrily following where his emotions would lead.

Little fragger really liked all sorts of excitement a bit too much.

Sideswipe didn’t get a chance to answer before there was a ping on their door. Sunstreaker caught the knife one more time, both of the twins looking at the door, but… It didn’t open.

So, not Megatron, then. He still walked right in without waiting for any kinds of go aheads.

They shared a glance before Sideswipe triggered the door to open. On the other side stood a Seeker, and…

“Ratchet?” Sunstreaker asked, surprise swelling in their spark. The both of them pushed themselves upright on the berth, ogling at the _Autobot_ medic presently on a _Decepticon_ ship, and this definitely wasn’t like it had been with Jazz. It was like Ratchet had permission to be here, what with the Seeker standing behind him.

If he wasn’t here with permission, they could only imagine he’d have been in the brig by now.

“Can I come in?” Ratchet asked, a bit grouchily. The way he was glaring behind him, it didn’t look like he really appreciated his escort.

The Seeker pretended he wasn’t seeing anything.

“Yeah, sure,” Sideswipe said, and Ratchet took that invitation to step inside. Before the door closed, they could see the Seeker turning and walking off.

Righty then, now Ratchet was here, in their room, on the Victory of all places. And… The last time they’d seen…

Well, Sunstreaker could barely keep the grimace off his face at that memory.

“What are you doing here?” Sideswipe asked, barely waiting a beat before continuing in a rush, “I mean, don’t take this wrong, we’re happy to see you, but you know…” Autobots, Decepticons, the whole war between those two factions.

There wasn’t usually much cooperation between them.

“I traded,” Ratchet grumbled.

That didn’t really answer anything.

“Traded what?” Sunstreaker asked, scooting to the edge of the berth and letting his pedes fall to the ground, although he didn’t get up.

Ratchet rolled his optics. “Medical care. I’ll treat some of the peskier injuries Hook struggles with, and in return I get to visit you.”

That was… Really nice of him, actually. Sideswipe gave a lopsided grin. “Aw, so you _do_ care.” As if they’d ever doubted that. 

True to form, there was a medical object flying through the air in the next second and Sideswipe meeped when it hit him in the helm.

“Shove it,” Ratchet grumbled a little harder, stepping forward and–

Sunstreaker could feel scans over him, and soon after Sideswipe felt the same. His brother fetched the wrench Ratchet had thrown and handed it back to the medic.

You know, so it could be thrown again when the need called for it.

“How is he treating you?” Ratchet asked, very tensely. His optics passed the length of Sunstreaker’s frame first, before repeating the visual inspection on Sideswipe.

Not that there was anything to see. Yeah, the interfacing with Megatron had a habit of leaving him dented and scuffed, but they fixed those right up. They were pictures of health, aside from the scratches across their insignias that no one had ever bothered to fix—and for what they stood, probably wouldn’t bother to fix anytime soon.

“Who?” Sideswipe asked for clarity’s sake. “Hook or Megs?”

“Both, really.”

“Hook’s perfectly passable as a medic. No real complaints,” Sunstreaker shrugged. Ratchet nodded briskly at him, looking like he expected that answer. Hook was no Ratchet, but he’d still managed to keep mecha of his own side alive and in the fight, so he had to have _some_ idea of what he was doing.

Even if he sounded like there were some things he couldn’t treat, that Ratchet could. 

“No real complaints about Megatron either,” Sunstreaker shrugged again. Ratchet’s optics sharpened on him, _scrutinizing_ him. Sunstreaker met the look evenly. He _still_ wasn’t the type to cow under things like that, like he’d never been, and Megatron had only further desensitized him.

Ratchet didn’t relent. “Excuse me if that’s a little hard to believe after the way he _fetched_ you,” he snarled.

Sunstreaker huffed. “And you think it wasn’t inevitable after I was _into_ the whole thing?” And the whole cascade of effects that had caused? First interfacing with the warlord repeatedly, like breaking the rules just once wasn’t enough? Then getting sparked and still keeping it a secret from everyone, because _Primus forbid_ he admit to what he’d done? All the trouble he would have gotten into that he’d denied like a fool to the last? Even knowing the chances of escaping the consequences forever were slim to _none?_

Why hadn’t he snuffed the sparkling? Why had he kept incriminating evidence he should have _hated_ by virtue of who its sire was, like any sane Autobot would have?

_What the pit was he thinking?_

And now he was here because of all that. Sure, Megatron had forced this bit on him, but really it was just one of the potential outcomes, none of which had been _good._

Was this the lesser evil out of all of them? What were the others? Despite what the Prime had said about them being _welcome_ in the Autobots? They weren’t. They barely ever were, least of all _now._ And what would the Autobots have done to _it?_ Shunned it at _best?_ Forced its abortion at worst?

He wouldn’t have put that past them. Not with how deep the rightful hatred of the opposite side ran—that Sunstreaker had, _evidently,_ never gotten aboard on like he should have.

Ratchet was quiet for a moment, still staring at him, and was that _concern_ in his expression? Again? Sunstreaker frowned. Weren’t they past this already?

They weren’t, if Ratchet’s next words were anything to go by. “Did you ever feel like you could say no?” he asked, a little carefully, almost.

Sunstreaker startled; Sideswipe revved in surprise. Yeah, that was the first conclusion Optimus had jumped to too, only for Megatron to immediately refute it.

Because Sunstreaker had been into it every step of the way, there was no denying that.

But had he ever felt like he even had any other _option?_

He hadn’t really entertained that thought before, but his frown deepened ahead of his helm dropping, breaking his gaze from Ratchet’s. “...Not really.”

He had kind of said no anyway, hadn’t he? No matter how exciting he’d found all of it, because saying _no_ was what he was _supposed_ to do in that situation. 

Megatron hadn’t much given a fuck about that.

Ratchet growled, and this time Sunstreaker did grimace. _“Do_ you feel like you can say no?” the medic asked, and pits but he sounded more than a little _angry._

But not at Sunstreaker, he was pretty sure about that. And yeah, Ratchet had rightly concluded the interfacing hadn’t stopped at his so called _defection._ Why would it have?

Did he feel, now, that he could say no?

“......Not really,” Sunstreaker said, quietly. He _denied_ every time. Not because he didn’t _want_ it. Everyone knew he did.

But it didn’t change the fact he never gave his permission, something Megatron ignored _every_ time. What if he one day genuinely meant it? What if one day he _didn’t_ want it?

Did he have any reason to think Megatron would give one flying _fuck_ about that?

Ratchet’s engine absolutely _roared_ this time, his field saturating the whole room with fury. He began to pace back and forth the rather lacking width of their room. Sunstreaker found himself in the unusual position of being the one to pulse calm, trying to pacify the irate medic that for once wasn’t angry at _them._

“Ratchet, it’s fine, really. I’m fine,” Sunstreaker promised, getting onto his pedes, and stepping in Ratchet’s path to force him to stop and look at him.

Which Ratchet did, his face in a severe scowl and optics spitting fire. _“I’m fine,”_ Sunstreaker repeated, trying to make the medic believe him.

Because he really did feel fine. He wasn’t traumatized by this whole thing or anything of the sort.

As far as he knew, anyway.

“How can you be fine?!” Ratchet asked, gesturing violently. Sideswipe got off the berth too, coming to stand behind Ratchet and sandwiching him between them. He wasn’t sure if Ratchet even noticed. “He’s– He’s– _Forcing_ you!”

 _Raping_ him, as much as Ratchet didn’t manage to get that word out. 

Was that what he was doing?

If it was, why was Sunstreaker so _okay_ with it? That was what Ratchet wanted to know, wasn’t it?

How was he supposed to explain this? The… _Normalcy_ of it.

It wasn’t out of the ordinary, it wasn’t anything that hadn’t happened before, it wasn’t anything he was _meant_ to make an issue out of. 

“It’s how we ‘faced back in the Pits,” Sideswipe spoke up. Ratchet started and glanced over his shoulder. Definitely hadn’t noticed Sideswipe’s approach, then. “It’s how a lot of gladiators got their kicks, the whole power play aspect of it,” his brother continued, shrugging. “We learned to like it, too.” Like it rough, like it when consent wasn’t _given,_ but _taken._ It was _exciting,_ to lose control like that to someone stronger than yourself—or, sometimes, pretend someone was stronger than yourself. 

There was no such need to _pretend_ with Megatron. There was slagall Sunstreaker—or Sideswipe, for that matter—could have done to stop him, even if they’d wanted to. Megatron had beaten him even when he’d glitched. He could have taken him right there and then, afterwards.

He hadn’t. A small mercy, on his part.

They didn’t _really_ want to stop him, though. Hadn’t so far, anyway, and Sunstreaker wouldn’t have bet on them ever wanting to do it. 

Ratchet’s face twisted with emotion that Sunstreaker didn’t want to name. It wasn’t so much anger anymore, just… What he felt when they shared some of the less pleasant details of their past. “You shouldn’t have _needed_ to learn to like it,” Ratchet said with feeling, looking between them. They stared back, light frowns on both their faces. “And you shouldn’t need to go through it again _now.”_

Sunstreaker huffed. “The fragging’s spectacular,” he said, crossing his arms across his chassis. Sure, maybe the whole _consent_ aspect of it was more than a little iffy, but that didn’t change the fact he’d gotten the best overloads of his life out of it. 

Ratchet straight up growled at him. “That doesn’t change a thing.”

“It changes everything,” Sunstreaker argued. “Maybe I couldn’t say no even if I wanted to, but I _don’t_ want to.”

“You should still have the option!” 

“Maybe, but I don’t,” Sunstreaker shrugged, “so the best thing I can do is enjoy the frag out of it.”

Ratchet stared at him for a moment before pressing his face into his servos and making a sound that was sheer _frustration._ “Sometimes I forget how fragged up you two are.”

Sideswipe snorted. “Thaaanks.”

The medic cycled a few deep ventilations before he dropped his servos to glare at Sunstreaker. “There’s nothing I can say to make you change your mind, is there?”

Sunstreaker gave him a wry smile. “Not really, no.” Really, it was in his own best interest to not change his mind, wasn’t it? Imagine if he suddenly started to make an issue out of this whole thing and really did end up getting raped as a result. Wouldn’t that just suck for _everyone?_

Ratchet growled again for good measure, but gestured him to get back on the berth. “Well, let me do a checkup on you.”

Sunstreaker nodded, and like the good little mechs they weren’t, both him and Sideswipe sat back down on the berth. Ratchet stepped up to Sideswipe first, plugging into him and perusing all the relevant readings and prodding at the bits of coding that sometimes proved troublesome for his brother. “Everything seems to be in order,” he grunted after a while. No surprise there. The most Sideswipe had ever gained were some injuries during training sessions, but Hook was perfectly capable of fixing those. So Sideswipe merely nodded and Ratchet unplugged from him, then turned to _Sunstreaker._

And this was bound to get more interesting.

“Ratchet?” Sunstreaker spoke up as the medic plugged into his port, earning himself a questioning look that he took as an invitation to continue. “If we’d told you about the sparkling’s sire, would you have needed to tell the command?”

The medic stilled for a moment, and really, that was all the answer there needed to be even before Ratchet inclined his helm and answered. “Yes. Almost anyone else I could have kept confidential, but Megatron would have been too great of a security risk alone.”

“Then we made the right call in not telling you right away,” Sideswipe concluded. “I mean, not that things went so great even with us keeping it a secret, but you know… At least it bought us some time.”

Ratchet nodded mutely as he began to file through the goddamned mess that was Sunstreaker’s helm. They weren’t sure if he genuinely agreed with that assessment, but he didn’t argue the point. 

“You’re coding the sparkling’s frame internally,” Ratchet noted after a moment. He had to have noticed it with his very first scans of them, but now he had the related commands and readings open.

“Yeah,” Sunstreaker confirmed anyway, and Ratchet all the way _smirked_ at how unhappy he sounded. Enjoy his suffering, why not.

But then the medic went on to frown. “There’s quite a bit of influence from Megatron here, already.”

Both twins shrugged. “He was pretty clear he wanted to contribute as much as possible.”

Ratchet growled, his field flashing with muted anger. It wasn’t too hard to guess why. _Contributing_ meant _interfacing,_ and they’d already had a whole discussion about the consent of that, so… Ratchet wasn’t happy.

Couldn’t be helped, though. It was what it was, and Ratchet didn’t start their argument back up, just grumbled. “Well, everything looks to be in order on this front. The coding is progressing as it should, and maybe with Megatron’s influence your glitch won’t pass on.”

See, there were positive things to Megatron’s input on all of this, too! Sideswipe snickered. “Told you so~”

Sunstreaker punched him on the shoulder, only for his brother to outright laugh. Ratchet rolled his optics at them. 

“What about my carrier protocols?” Sunstreaker asked after giving his twin a good, hard glare. “Hook said they’re online, but couldn’t tell what they were doing exactly.”

“Well, let me have a look,” Ratchet said, putting aside the frame building stuffs and navigating to the nearby bits of coding related to it. He frowned as he read through them. “They’re not working as they should, that’s for sure,” the medic muttered after a moment of silence and focus. Sideswipe snickered again, and Sunstreaker huffed. That wasn’t too much of a surprise right there. “Looks like they _are_ making you protective of the sparkling, as they should, but they’re not accessing your emotional cortex to make you _attached_ to it.”

With how damaged that part of his processors was, that didn’t come as anything too unexpected. And maybe that was why he didn’t feel a particular draw to stay with the sparkling after its separation. He wanted to secure its future, and that was probably the protective part, but he wasn’t hell bent on being a _part_ of that future, which he assumed would’ve been the attached part.

“Anything else?” Sunstreaker asked. He couldn’t much understand what Ratchet was looking at, anymore than Hook had. It might’ve been his own damn head, but he was no one who would’ve specialized in coding in any shape or form.

“Again, they’re not accessing your emotional cortex to make you _care_ about the sire,” Ratchet said slowly, but from the concentrated frown on his face, that wasn’t the end of it. It just looked like even Ratchet had trouble making sense of how his programming was functioning with this thing, no matter how much time the medic had spent in their heads.

Ratchet continued eventually, “But it seems they might be influencing your thoughts towards some positivity regarding him, anyway. Just not emotional one.”

Sunstreaker nodded slowly. That would explain why he didn’t give a frag about Megatron beyond the thought that _he_ would take care of the sparkling like no one else. That was really the end and the beginning of his investment in the mech.

Besides the fucking, anyway. That was good.

Ratchet moved to the rest of his coding next, viewing it as a whole for a moment before prodding at the areas that were mostly held together by some desperate patch jobs to give him even some of his self-control back.

He frowned when he focused on some of those areas. “There’s some deterioration. Have you noticed your glitch worsening?”

Sunstreaker frowned too. “Not really, no.” But then, he hadn’t run into particularly stressful situations either, so maybe he just hadn’t done anything that would have had him seeing a difference.

“Well, keep an eye on that,” Ratchet cautioned him before unplugging from him. “You’re both about as fit as can be expected.”

“Hook’s doing a passable job?” Sideswipe grinned and Ratchet gave him a glare before sighing and _nodding._

See, things weren’t so bad for them at all. They had all they physically needed, including great fucking, and good enough medical care, and–

“How have you settled in otherwise?” Ratchet asked from them. Sideswipe scooted to the side before patting the berth between the brothers, and the medic took the invitation and sat down.

“Better than we ever did with the ‘Bots,” Sideswipe replied frankly, but without going too in depth with it. They didn’t need to rub how much better they were fitting in here in Ratchet’s face. He had always been one of the things that hadn’t sucked about the Autobots.

And he didn’t look very surprised to hear that. “About what I expected,” he admitted instead. “Making friends?”

Sunstreaker snorted at the question. Why did he feel like someone was doing some mother henning right then? Sideswipe grinned, and was the one to answer again. “Ayup~” But, again, he didn’t go into the details.

Ratchet nodded, and for a moment there was quiet. Not the awkward kind, just… Companionable. They could have asked about the Autobots, how they were doing in their absence and all that, but it would’ve been weird kind of prying. Was it any of their business how the Autobots were doing? They didn’t really consider themselves a part of the war anymore or anything, but they _did_ live with the opposite side. Sure, Ratchet wouldn’t have told them anything important or confidential anyway, but still.

So they didn’t ask about everything they’d left behind. That was the past. Might as well leave it there and focus on the present—and the future.

Ratchet was the one to break the silence. “You can feel the sparkling already, can’t you?”

Sunstreaker nodded. Without anything too exciting happening, the little thing was laying quiescent, but it was still _there_ the whole time. He could feel its little life next to his own bigger one.

“Have you noticed its personality yet?” Ratchet asked next, staring at his chest as if he could look through all the armor protecting his spark chamber.

The twin’s mouth rose into a smile. “Sorta. It’s got a sense of humor. Adrenaline junkie. Loves it when I fight, especially. Doesn’t get bored too easy, though. Demanding, gets huffy if it doesn’t get its way.” That last one… Was probably going to become an issue later, after it had separated. For now it was just limited to demanding him to do things that it found exciting, but that was easy to deny.

What of when it had a frame of its own to express itself and its will with?

Ratchet snorted. “You’ll have your hands full with it.”

“Well, someone will have,” Sunstreaker conceded. Ratchet gave him a curious look, to which he shrugged and continued, “I haven’t yet decided if I’m gonna stick around after it’s separated.”

The medic’s look of surprise only lasted for a second before his understanding dawned and he nodded. He’d just poked around in his coding, so… Yeah. No real surprise there.

“But you’re not returning to the Autobots after?” Ratchet asked, probably for confirmation’s sake because Jazz had to have passed on what they’d talked about.

“Pit no,” Sunstreaker said with the same sentiment he’d given to Jazz. And this time he didn’t repeat the reasons. There was no point. Ratchet had to know them by now.

And he probably did, because he didn’t ask after them, just nodded again.

“Will you have to leave yet?” Sideswipe asked from his other side.

Ratchet looked his way and shook his helm. “I don’t think so. There was no time limit given.”

“Does that mean you can stay a while?” Sideswipe continued, a little hopeful.

Or a lot hopeful.

Ratchet inclined his helm, this time, just a bit of a smile on his face. “As long as I can before someone throws me out.”

Both of the brothers laughed at that, Sideswipe a bit more freely than Sunstreaker. “Won’t be us~”


	12. Bring a Little Hell

Ratchet remained concerned of his glitch, as was the theme with all of the Autobots. And it did make sense. Some, at least. It was a dangerous thing to toy with, one that landed others in medbay or the recycling yard if it got out of control.

But… Wasn’t it also an unspeakable advantage? He couldn’t count how many times he’d gotten out of sticky situations, won a fight, because of _it._ That dysfunctional part of him. It made him damn near unstoppable, and sometimes, especially in the Pits and during a goddamned _war,_ that was just what you needed. A little extra gear to beat the fear of Primus into your opposition.

Sometimes beat that into your _own_ side too, though. That was an unfortunate side effect of the whole thing, one the Autobots desperately feared.

The Decepticons? He still couldn’t speak for most of them, but at least he knew what Megatron thought. Megatron didn’t think it was something to concern oneself with, no matter how hazardous the whole thing could be. Megatron just saw it as another tool of destruction, same as a gun, or a sword. To be wielded, not to be feared.

 _Was it_ comparable to those, though? Guns and swords were dangerous too, but you needed either someone who was completely out of control— _desperate_ —to make them so, or someone skilled enough to use them right and with enough ill intent to actually put that skill to good use.

What was he? Was he _desperate_ for survival when he unleashed himself, or was he a skilled _craftsman_ of death that only used it as another method to the end of annihilation? 

The Autobots had driven him towards the former with their preaching of total control that didn’t leave any room to lose himself, because doing that would’ve been dangerous and _Primus forbid_ he do anything that carried a risk to others. It was war! Didn’t that account for anything? Were they blind or unwilling to see it for the advantage it was? Were they so preoccupied with just the danger of it, completely disregarding the _good_ it could do when applied right in battle?

It was true he sometimes lost control of himself. Push him far enough, trigger him, and off he was. If others weren’t prepared for it… It could end badly. _For them._ But he had gotten better about that after who knew how many times of having his coding edited and patched to the extent it could be patched, and from the physical repairs done on his processors—what there was to be done, how much of it _could_ be fixed. He’d never be good as new, he’d never be _sane,_ he’d never lose all of the damage, but he was doing better now.

So what was the issue anymore? Was there a risk that he’d slide right back to the state he was in at the beginning of the war, where he barely had a lucid moment? No one had really said anything about that. Ratchet talked about deterioration, but how _far_ could that progress? Far enough to land him back in square one, or would it stop at some point? Leave him with _enough_ control?

He would have loved to ask Ratchet that, but Ratchet was long gone and he didn’t exactly feel like casually calling an Autobot even if Ratchet likely would have welcomed that. But there was a… Rift, now, thanks to all he’d done. That couldn’t be crossed so easily, and he doubted there was any mending it even if he’d wanted to do that. Him and Ratchet weren’t on the same side anymore. That was that.

Sunstreaker frowned as he stared at the sparring ring of the training room. There was no one else present to interrupt his thoughts. What else had Ratchet said during his visit? About the whole issue of _consent?_ Sunstreaker couldn’t say that was so much as a blip on his radar. It was such an… Inconsequential thing, even if Ratchet had thought it important. Probably most of the Autobots would have considered it _important._

But Megatron hadn’t targeted any other Autobot, he had targeted _Sunstreaker._ And Sunstreaker came from the same environment as the warlord, where _strength_ was everything and the winner took _all._ If they wanted to. They spoke the same language, as it was, because that was what the _violence_ they knew was—a language of its own. 

They understood each other, each other’s values and points of view, because they shared most of them. And Sunstreaker couldn’t say he didn’t _enjoy_ that. He couldn’t say didn’t enjoy not being judged— _for once_ —for what he was, what he _wasn’t,_ and what he did, how he thought. He fought Megatron, argued, insulted, but how much did any of that mean? How deep did his hatred of the mech go?

Not very deep, if he was honest with himself. Megatron was a thrill like few other things were, something dangerous and _powerful_ that Sunstreaker got to play around with. That alone warmed Sunstreaker to him quite a bit. It was _exciting,_ not something to _hate._

Didn’t mean he’d start fighting any less, because it wasn’t about how he _felt,_ it was just about the facade he put on, as much as he knew Megatron could see right through it.

And that played a part in why _consent_ wasn’t important. It did sort of exist anyway, didn’t it? It existed in the excitement they both knew was there, that his frame always wound up displaying no matter how his vocalizer spat fire and denied everything. They both knew he _wanted_ it, so what did it matter if he tried to deny it?

If he one day meant it, genuinely didn’t want it? As unlikely as he saw that to be… Megatron was stronger. He’d proven that much several times over. If he could _take_ it, thanks to his strength… Well, it was his at that point. It was no deeper than that, and Sunstreaker knew well what it meant and what it would leave to him. Definitely not the control of the situation.

But that was just part of the fun. He couldn’t imagine suddenly changing his mind about that. 

Ratchet wouldn’t get it. He didn’t understand the way things just _were,_ or, had been, in the Pits. In Kaon in general. Survival of the fittest _defined_ the city, and its residents hadn’t suddenly changed the values imprinted in them by their home just because they’d left it to wage war. The culture remained—warped by time and battles by now, but still possessing its core. 

_It was just how things were,_ and Sunstreaker hadn’t minded that in a long time.

He didn’t need to look or scan who it was when the door opened to admit someone. Sideswipe walked up next to him, their fields merging. From Sunstreaker’s thoughts it followed that Sideswipe didn’t much give a damn about the situation either—though, granted, Sideswipe rarely gave a damn about anything. He really was too easygoing for anyone’s good. Even now he was wearing his signature smile, a light _smirk,_ the corners of his mouth drawn up even though he had nothing in particular to smile about. 

The Pits had taken his smile, once upon a time, but he’d regained it with sheer perseverance. Sunstreaker doubted anything could ever again take it from him. Not after it had gotten tested by the hell they’d gone through, only to return.

Sideswipe had gotten used to things. At the end of it, he had been little different than he was at the beginning. It was _Sunstreaker_ who hadn’t handled all of it so gracefully. He may have survived the city, but the Pits were the city cranked up to _eleven,_ and that he’d been wholly unprepared for. He’d come out at the other side with permanent _damage,_ but… Stronger for it. No? 

And now… Things had changed, again. The Pits had valued the likes of him, _berserkers._ The Autobots had not. He wasn’t an Autobot anymore. Megatron saw it as a _good thing._

What did _Sunstreaker_ think?

He wasn’t sure. Not yet. 

Sideswipe caught him by a servo and tugged him to the training ring. And yeah, _why not?_ If he wanted to use it as the _weapon_ Megatron thought of it as, he would need to know his limits. He would need to learn how to _wield_ it, instead of just succumbing to it because he’d been told that was all he could _allow_ himself. Don’t glitch, just _don’t glitch—_ but _why?_

Why wouldn’t he?

Sparring with Sideswipe was what it always was, dancing, no gaining an upper hand. Did it _have_ to be like that, though? It was their spark that broadcasted their every move, every _intent_ to its twin half, feeding them the constant knowledge of what the other was even _thinking_ about doing. With that knowledge, they could nullify all of it, and nullify the other’s nullification… But their frames were identical. Equal in strength, equal in speed. They could be locked in their stalemate for good; there was no advantage one had over the other.

_Unless._

His spark disconnected from his processors when he _lost it._ It wouldn’t know what his frame was doing, thinking, planning. It would have nothing to feed to its other half.

Sideswipe wouldn’t know a damn thing of what his frame was about to do, beyond what his skill as a warrior would allow him to read.

And… It was the end of their physical equality, too.

He’d beat Sideswipe, there was never a question of it. He did it _every_ time. But it was always… Out of control. He’d go over the top, leave his brother a bloody mess, even if he never landed the killing blow because even at the height of it, his fragging frame knew _better._ Sideswipe’s death would be the end of it too, and it wasn’t out to commit suicide.

No, it was all _self-preservation_ gone wrong, over the top. Keep itself alive, except _everything_ was a threat to be _obliterated._ Point him in the right direction and he might even hit the enemy, but just as easily he could turn against his own side. There was no sense of friend or foe in it.

Could he flirt with the edge? How close could he push himself without falling? 

Sideswipe was studying him, barely glancing away from his optics—relying on his sensors and their spark to guide him through every countered or dodged attack, instead of his sight. Sunstreaker knew his suggestion.

Why not _try?_ Test it out? See how close he could go, and if he fell… Well. That happened sometimes. Sideswipe was ready for it.

And the sparklet, nothing would happen to it even if he tried this. It wasn’t as if any of it affected his spark, only his frame and its connection to said spark. And if his spark was fine, so would the sparkling be.

But he could feel its curiosity. Both at the fight that wasn’t really a fight at all with how they flowed around and against each other, faster, _faster,_ but never reaching a tipping point. It was examining the way his spark moved in its casing to enable that, the feedback from his brother, how that felt.

How it felt to be one.

It would never get to experience that feeling for itself, but like this… If anything, it would come the closest out of _anyone_ to understanding how their split spark functioned, just because of the way it connected to his spark half for now. It could observe, examine. And it did.

It only did twice so when Sunstreaker began to loosen his iron control of himself. It was never a matter of if he _could_ glitch.

It was just about _letting go._ A relief, really, to stop fighting it, stop the eternal, damned _struggle_ of keeping his wits about himself.

Sideswipe was watching him closely, and through him Sunstreaker knew his optics paled. And the usual—the forever whispers grew louder, shadows began to dance at the edges of his vision. Feeling, as if someone was touching him, but Sideswipe wasn’t, not there. Phantom readings on his scanners as his mind slipped further.

He could feel the edge of a disaster in the making, but he didn’t tip over. He didn’t allow himself, but… It got more difficult. Like a snowball rolling down a hill, it gathered more momentum and size the longer he allowed it to go on, the closer he inched towards the point where he knew he’d snap.

How long could he play it?

How long could he _remember_ why he was still fighting it?

They had an audience by now, mecha curious of their so called _sparring._ Although, it wasn’t as fluent as it had been. His movement lost some of its grace. He knew that much, even without the change in Sideswipe’s experience of what they were doing, _how_ they were doing it.

He knew, too, that the output of his frame was slowly ramping up, in time with the further loss of _thought._ It wasn’t the catastrophic crash into superiority, but a slow march towards it anyway, and at some point… Eventually, it would become inevitable, reach a point where he wouldn’t be able to stop it anymore.

But what about this? Was he doomed to that the moment he started down that path, or could he gain some of the benefits without all of the downsides?

“Twins,” someone said, closer to the ring than everyone else. Sideswipe disengaged from him and rallied their spark until Sunstreaker could draw himself closer to the surface, fight down the ghosts that wanted to rise—enough so, at least, that the noise in his audials died down enough for him to make sense of his surroundings. His vision still wavered, but… A little more grounded, that was all he asked from himself right then.

Sideswipe waited on him, always his steady reality check. This time too Sunstreaker had to rely on his perspective more than his own, knowing his frame’s experience was… _Compromised._

He still turned to look despite the fog on his mind. Onslaught. The Combaticon leader was glancing between him, his look as calculating as always. 

After a moment of silence that was never _silence_ to Sunstreaker, Onslaught made the right call of addressing Sideswipe rather than him. “Could I spar with him?”

Sideswipe considered him for a second before he straightened the rest of the way and tilted his helm. “You know the risk, yeah? What he’s doing?”

“I do.”

Sideswipe grinned. “Then the stage is all yours, my mech. Curious to see how this goes.”

With that his brother exited the ring and joined the spectators. Onslaught entered the ring in his stead, and Sunstreaker turned to look at him after a delay of fighting himself. His conscious thoughts ran sluggish, trudging through thigh deep mud. But Onslaught didn’t question him or his ability to fight still.

Instead he just attacked.

And as hindered as Sunstreaker’s thoughts were, nothing was wrong with his reflexes, or indeed, his battle protocols. Those worked on overdrive, and he’d blocked Onslaught’s attack and delivered one of his own before his higher processes even caught up. His senses were addled, and for the life of him he didn’t know if that remained true when he did go all the way berserk. He never gained any memories to learn that from.

But probably not, because this was difficulty level _hardcore._ He managed fine when he fully glitched, judging by the destruction he left in his wake, but right now it was a race to separate the hallucinations of a broken mind from the physical reality. 

Downsides, upsides. Benefits, drawbacks. His frame ran hot, but his failsafes weren’t down all the way. He couldn’t trust his senses, could barely think straight, and this wasn’t just a _mild_ case of that.

This was true hindrance.

So, no, _flirting_ with the edge wasn’t worth it. 

What about jumping off of it? He knew what would follow that.

Did he want to, right now, or would he rather claw his way back to sanity? Did he even have that option anymore?

Sideswipe’s presence was solid as ever, strengthening his own half of their spark, but even so the connection between that and his frame was painfully tenuous, and it wasn’t getting better. He didn’t have… Enough conscious processing power left to push it all back down. Gather it up, lock it away. Self-control.

That was a hard thing to come by, sometimes.

All or nothing, then. There was no _useful_ in between. 

And right now, that _nothing_ was no longer achievable. His only direction was _down_ —all in.

Time to see if Onslaught had what it took, as Megatron did. ::Ready, set, _go,_ :: Sideswipe commed the Combaticon, and that was the last thing Sunstreaker was aware of before he _let go._


	13. It's All About You

“Pits you did a number on each other…” Hook muttered as he finished fixing the last of the _physical_ damage on Sunstreaker’s frame. Onslaught was already long gone. For whatever reason Hook had opted to fix him first—at least, after he’d patched up both of their more _life threatening_ injuries.

“My specialty,” Sunstreaker smirked. He couldn’t remember slag of what had gone down, only that moment of coming back to himself and _everything_ hurting. And… Onslaught on top of him, pinning him down.

So, Onslaught had what it took, but he’d paid an even steeper price for it than Megatron had. As it turned out, the Combaticon leader hadn’t found himself too capable of getting _back up_ after neutralizing the threat Sunstreaker posed. It was enough to win the fight, yes… But it was _Sunstreaker_ who limped out of there under his own power. 

Were this the Pits, Onslaught would have ended up in the scrapyard. Quite lucky for him it wasn’t. Still, enough of the Decepticons knew how the Pits worked to conclude that the fight was more of a draw than anything else. 

And as much as Sunstreaker’s frame hadn’t recorded any of it, Sideswipe had watched every moment. It was a show he’d seen hundreds of times before, but most of the Decepticons hadn’t, not like this. They knew he was a berserker, chances were they’d seen him go off in battles, but that was different from fighting just one opponent. You couldn’t really appreciate his destructive prowess before you’d seen someone very powerful in their own right try to go toe to toe with it—and come out on top, or not.

Onslaught was one hell of a fighter, and far larger and stronger than he was, but even that wasn’t enough to entirely save him. Sideswipe had witnessed his slow undoing. For every attack Onslaught landed, Sunstreaker landed two, his speed and and the rapid, tearing movement of his frame catching even the tactically minded tank off guard more often than not. What surprise was that? There were supposed limitations to what a frame could do, how fast it could move, how fast it could change direction.

Sunstreaker summarily _undid_ all of those limitations, and very often it left his opponents reeling when everything they thought they knew about others’ capabilities suddenly became null and void. You could observe it, sure, but even that didn’t compare to actually having to _face it_ yourself. And _reeling_ meant _unprepared,_ and _unprepared_ meant mistakes and injuries.

Onslaught had lasted long just thanks to his durability and stamina, but Sunstreaker didn’t lack those two either, even less so when his frame was ready to break itself from the inside to raise his bar far above what a _sane_ mech could manage. Onslaught had withstood long enough to down him, pin him… But no longer than that.

And he’d been left broken and bloodied by the end of it, plating torn and injuries littering every inch of him that Sunstreaker was able to reach, leaking a rainbow of fluids all over the training ring.

Not that Sunstreaker was doing much better. Onslaught gave as good as he got, and combined with the damage Sunstreaker brought on himself, the world turned into sheer _agony_ as soon as his faculties returned to him. As was usual after his more glitched moments, but no matter how many times it happened, his pain tolerance could never quite catch up. The hurt was just too great.

The sparkling was fine throughout the whole process, but it quickly grew confused. First at the disconnect between his frame and spark, when his spark was left floating without contact to the physical world aside from what Sideswipe’s half was experiencing. And then, once that ended, the sudden influx of negativity as his spark was forced to acknowledge the pain of the aftermath. There wasn’t the excitement and satisfaction of the fight itself. The whole duration of it was just _missing._

And the sparklet didn’t really understand what that was about, and there was little in the way of explaining he could do before it began to experience the world with a frame of its own and could access its foundational files, and listen with its own audials. At that time it would be easy to inform it of the kind of glitch its carrier suffered—and that could, if they were that lucky or unlucky, pass onto its frame too. How _fun_ would that be, a little being a berserker from the very beginning. 

Here was to hoping Megatron’s influence on the sparkling frame’s code would be enough to negate the malfunctioning parts of Sunstreaker’s coding.

“Ratchet said there’s some deterioration in my code. In the patches, I think,” Sunstreaker spoke up as Hook finished tightening something in his leg. The medic glanced up at him.

“You know I don’t much understand your programming, but let me have a look.” With that Hook double checked his work, as he did, before returning his exoskeleton to its place and reattaching his armor on top of it. Sunstreaker turned his helm for Hook to plug in. The Constructicon stared into nothing as he perused his code and presumably tried to make some sense of what he was looking at.

And Sunstreaker knew it wasn’t an easy task. There was little in the way of functional standard coding in him, the very basics of what made a mech tick more or less destroyed or reshaped into something that really wasn’t _normal._ And on top of that mess were countless workarounds and patches to make up for the fact his base coding barely held together under its own power. Hook didn’t even have the benefit of knowing what those workarounds and patches were _supposed_ to look like.

Despite that handicap, he browsed through several of them, examining each one closely to figure out what about the code it related to didn’t work—or didn’t work _right_ —on its own, and what the patch bandaged on top of it did to make it work anyway. 

Sideswipe was about ready to fall asleep where he was standing next to the doorway by the time Hook spoke again. “It does look like some of these are falling apart a bit. Don’t ask me to do anything about it though, I’m nowhere near confident enough to try to fix any of this.”

“Wasn’t expecting that,” Sunstreaker said. Getting it _fixed_ wasn’t really a concern anyway, for as long as– “How far can the deterioration progress? My glitch, how bad can it get?”

Hook was silent for a good while again, and Sunstreaker idly watched as he ran through his coding some more, as well as ran some diagnostics and compared their reports to some older ones—some _very_ old ones, too. 

_Eventually_ the medic deemed to answer. “If you’re asking whether you’ll go under permanently at some point, I don’t think so. There’s enough physical repairs done on your processors themselves that that should halt the code’s deterioration at some point, and the physical damage is unlikely to be recreated. You might get worse, but…” Hook could see for himself just how bad things had been at the beginning of the war, and brought those reports to the forefront to draw Sunstreaker’s attention to them. “Not _this_ bad.”

Not _completely_ out of it. 

That still left a lot of wiggle room for some unpleasantness. “How close to it?” Sunstreaker asked. How close to losing his fucking mind for good could he get?

“Easier to trigger and harder to resurface, I’d say, but nothing worse than that.”

‘Nothing worse.’ That was an interesting choice of words right there. Back with the Autobots even that much of a _setback_ would’ve been enough to ring everyone’s alarm bells and prompt the medical team to do their best to reverse the damage once again.

But Hook treated it like it was _no biggie._ No biggie that Sunstreaker could get more out of control, lose his grip on himself, turn more unpredictable, more dangerous. 

Before Sunstreaker had the chance to say anything more, the door to the repair bay opened and _Megatron_ walked through. He glanced at Sideswipe, acknowledging him, but walked straight to Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker scowled. “The slag are you doing here?”

“My ship,” Megatron growled back. “And _my_ sparkling.” With that, his attention turned to Hook. “How is it doing?”

Sunstreaker snarled, and if Hook wasn’t still hardlined to him, he would’ve just jumped up to strangle the fragger for _dismissing_ him like that. 

Hook pulled up the sparkling’s readings, presumably to send them to Megatron. “Just fine. Its frame wasn’t damaged in the little throwdown Sunstreaker and Onslaught had, although at this point it wouldn’t matter even if it had. It’d have plenty of time to fix itself.”

Sunstreaker prepared himself for getting berated for his little bout of violence, but… That didn’t come. Instead Megatron merely nodded, and _now_ he turned his attention back to Sunstreaker. Hook disconnected now that no one was asking anything else from him, and only waited around for a moment before he left the berthside entirely.

Pits, they were never going to get used to not getting kicked out of the medbay as soon as they were repaired. “How did it react to your glitch?” Megatron asked from him, and Sunstreaker frowned. Pretty innocent question, though.

“Confused,” he answered. “It didn’t understand the shift to and from physical disconnect. Didn’t get the _satisfaction_ of the fight. I think it’s a little angry at me for that.”

Megatron’s optical ridge rose. “Is it sulking, now?”

Sideswipe snickered and Sunstreaker’s mouth ticked into a small smile. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“Takes after its carrier, I see,” the warlord drawled, and Sunstreaker’s smile turned right back into a scowl.

“Shut up, you don’t know shit.” When had he sulked?!

 _Anyway._ “You’re not upset about the fight?” Sideswipe asked. “I mean, they totally beat each other up, big time.”

“The sparkling was in no danger,” Megatron responded, “and it is a good… _Experience_ for Onslaught to have. Maybe he’ll win next time.”

Ah, so even Megatron didn’t think Onslaught had _really_ won. 

And apparently there was going to be a next time, now. Well, that worked for Sunstreaker just fine. Why the frag not? He couldn’t say the Autobots _hadn’t_ gotten him to shy away from his glitch, but on a personal level? Did he really give a _damn_ about it, even with the pain it inflicted on his own frame?

“Hook says I might lose some of my control,” Sunstreaker said, pushing himself to sitting and swinging his legs off the edge of the berth. “Something about my coding _deteriorating.”_

Megatron looked at him in askance, this time. “To what extent?”

The twins shrugged. “Said he’s probably not gonna go _all_ looney like he did back in the day,” Sideswipe answered. “Just easier to trigger.” Wasn’t that _bad enough?_ The Autobots would have thought so.

But they already knew some of what Megatron thought of the whole thing, and true to that, he didn’t seem the least bit concerned over it, any more than Hook had. “Hm. Would that remove some of your _hangups_ over the whole matter?”

_Really?_

Both of the brothers blinked at the tyrant. So… That was what he was interested in? How much more _willing_ to glitch it would make Sunstreaker?

He snarled. “I don’t fragging know. What do you care, anyway? I’m not about to start fighting for you, I’ll just beat up your troops.”

“It is an ability that shouldn’t be _squandered,”_ Megatron said back, not really giving yay or nay to the whole fact that _Sunstreaker didn’t fight for him._ And he wasn’t going to! So, what the pit? Was he just _squandering_ it for as long as he didn’t fight, according to Megatron?

Was that supposed to motivate him to rejoin the fight, this time under the tyrant’s banner? Sunstreaker snarled harder. “Watch me _not give a fuck.”_ He slipped off the berth entirely, coming to stand in front of the tyrant and tilting his helm way back to stare up at him. “Now, if that was all.”

With that Sunstreaker circled around Megatron, though not without shoving him with his shoulder.

Before he could get two steps away, though, a large servo closed around his arm, pulling him to a halt. Sunstreaker revved, glaring back over his shoulder at the tyrant. _“What?”_

“Do you still hesitate with your glitch because of what the _Autobots_ told you?”

Megatron growled that. Sunstreaker frowned. Why did this keep being an issue when he wasn’t fragging _fighting_ for the mech?

What was the honest answer to that question, though? He’d tried to figure that out for a while now, but he wasn’t sure he was any closer to an answer.

What did he _want_ regarding his glitch was the question he should really be asking himself. Did he want to get rid of it, despite the fact that was a sheer impossibility?

Not really.

Did he want to live his life pretending he wasn’t a berserker, always denying himself, keeping himself under control, holding back every second of every day?

_Did he?_

What was the alternative? Putting it to good use, as Megatron _clearly_ wanted him to do?

Why wouldn’t he? Because he’d spent such a long time trying _not_ to do that? Was that it?

Frag. “I don’t fucking know, alright?” Sunstreaker growled, yanking himself free. Maybe it was why he hesitated. Honestly, it _probably_ was why he hesitated. What other reasons did he have? He didn’t take any personal issue with the destruction he could leave in his wake. It wasn’t distressing for him to go under like that, with no memory of what he’d done after he came back to himself.

He just didn’t _care,_ on that front. _Couldn’t,_ really, not with the state of his processors. Things just didn’t always register as they maybe should have.

So why the pit would he hold back at all? Especially now that he had reason to believe nothing would come out of surrendering himself to it more often? That he wouldn’t slip straight back to the state he had been in after acquiring the whole damn thing?

“Fuck off,” he muttered before he stalked to the door and out of it. Sideswipe joined him by his side, but before they’d even gotten to the end of the short hallway, heavy pedesteps sounded behind them. Sunstreaker resolutely paid them _no mind–_

Up until he was grabbed, _again,_ and this time all but thrown against the hallway wall. He grunted from the impact, but before he could more than glare at the perpetrator, Megatron had already come in front of him, his servos landing on the wall on either side of him and trapping Sunstreaker _right_ there. He could have ducked and tried to slip away, but he highly doubted that would have worked.

“What the pit do you want?” he growled at Megatron, shoving at his chassis with both arms, which did him exactly no good. Megatron didn’t even sway. “You want me to glitch every few moments? Scrap your whole army? Because I’m not going to fight for _you,_ so where am I even supposed to put it to _use?”_

“I will not have the Autobots keep you prisoner within your own mind,” the tyrant snarled right back at him. Was _that_ what this was really about? Just Megatron’s hatred of the Prime and his faction? “They’ve _wasted_ you all these vorns, and whatever you choose to do with your life in further practice, it shouldn’t be done under the influence of the _Prime.”_

Yeah, sounded like that was it. “What do you care?” Sunstreaker hissed. “What I do after you have the sparkling is of no fragging consequence to you.”

“Every mech I free from Optimus is a victory in my eyes,” Megatron rumbled, _glaring_ at him the same Sunstreaker was glaring at him. 

“You just don’t want me running back to the Autobots and fighting _against_ you again.”

“Would you do that, regardless?”

 _Not really._ They both knew that, and all of his reasons for it—from the sparkling, his treason, to the fact he’d found a place where he _fit in_ so much better. 

Didn’t necessarily mean he wanted to stay with the Decepticons, but it did make the Autobots look even _more_ unappealing. Sunstreaker averted his optics and glared at the junction of the hallways instead. Sideswipe was leaning a shoulder against the opposite wall, his arms crossed across his chassis, _so_ casual.

 _Wherever_ might this be going?

Before it could go there, before Megatron had the time to do or say anything more, Sunstreaker took his chances and ducked under the tyrant’s arm, bolting down the hallway. But, as he’d suspected, Megatron was well prepared for that and grabbed him all over again, this time slamming him back against the wall. Sunstreaker snarled, twice so when Megatron caught his arms, lifted them above his helm, and pinned them against the wall there.

Yeah, going _there_ alright. “Let fragging go of me,” he growled, flashing his denta at Megatron. _Flat_ denta. Not very threatening at all. 

Oh to still have his fangs. 

Megatron paid him no mind and merely lifted him by his arms, off the floor, until Sunstreaker could and _had to_ wrap his legs around his waist just to take some of the strain off his shoulders. That… Put Megatron’s codpiece uncomfortably close to his own covers.

Sunstreaker found himself not minding that fact very much. In fact, his frame found it a quite appealing prospect, his engine revving again, but this time only _half_ of it was aggravation. 

But he was aggravated, too. He was very aggravated. He bucked against Megatron’s hold, but that did little to the end of freeing himself, and mostly just served to grind their panels together. 

Only half intentional. Sunstreaker gasped at the unexpected friction _that he really should have expected,_ and Megatron rumbled at him, _amused._

Fragger.

“Really want the sparkling to resemble you, huh?” Sunstreaker growled at the tyrant, shooting daggers at him for all the good it did. Megatron almost _smiled_ down at him, and his hold held no matter what way Sunstreaker twisted or tugged.

“That was the agreement, wasn’t it?”

“I never agreed to a damn thing!” Sunstreaker hissed, or snarled, or whatever the furious sound his vocalizer made was, accompanied by angry revving of his engine.

And some other revving too, when Megatron’s free servo trailed down his frame, along the curve of his waist, to his hip—sharp claws slipped to his valve cover, scratching furrows along it. “All you’ve done is fragging tell me how things are going to go,” he continued with a slightly lower volume, tugging at his trapped wrists again, “and then just expect me to go along with it. I wouldn’t call that an _agreement.”_

“Ah, but you’ve _gone along_ with barely anything, have you?” Megatron asked him, rhetorical, and the bastard had _no right_ to be as amused as he sounded—as amused as his field was. “I’ve had to wrangle you into cooperation every step of the way.” Not too far from the truth, was it? Oh, there were those moments and those things they did find themselves in some sort of an agreement on, such as what would happen to the sparkling after its separation.

The rest of the time it was just Megatron telling him what the frag to do, and bullying him into it when he refused the first time.

Such as _right now._ Sunstreaker sucked in a sharp ventilation when Megatron hooked his claws in the seams of his valve cover, but he didn’t avert his gaze from the tyrant’s, and he fragging well didn’t _open._

Megatron raised an optical ridge at him. “Exactly my point.”

“Exactly my point, too,” Sunstreaker growled back a second before he had to silence his vocalizer to mute the pained grunt that wanted to escape as he was, once again, relieved of his valve cover entirely for _dallying_ too long. 

He was, what, five steps from the medbay? And already he had reason to go back.

Frag everything.

Megatron especially. And, that was exactly what was going to happen, _as per usual._ Not that Sunstreaker could deny the amount of lubricant that greeted Megatron’s digits when they stabbed into his valve—also as per usual. But it was already well established Megatron had him running hot with barely a glance in his direction, just the _promise_ of having his attention enough for Sunstreaker’s frame to utterly betray him. 

But he couldn’t deny his attraction to the danger, to the play of power between them that always saw him as the unwilling— _willing_ —loser. Megatron was like no one else, and for the life of him Sunstreaker _couldn’t get enough._

Three of the tyrant’s claws were seated in his valve before Megatron was satisfied, removed his digits, released his _spike,_ and Sunstreaker’s hips tilted for a better angle a second ahead of the thrust of Megatron’s hips that buried his spike deep. Sunstreaker groaned at the intrusion, his helm falling back against the wall and his calipers flexing around the thick length that jammed itself in his frame.

Yeah, how the pit was he ever going to _not_ want this? 

Megatron drew back, only to push his spike back in with his usual care, so, no care at all. It was the best kind of sting, and Sunstreaker only tilted his hips to better receive the damned thing, his optics shuttering tightly at the torrent of pleasure his sensors assaulted him with. Megatron growled deep from his frame and Sunstreaker’s back arched off the wall, his whole frame shuddering at the sound that sent its vibrations from Megatron’s frame to his own. His legs tightened around the tyrant’s hips, hindering his movement some—but Sunstreaker didn’t mind that the thrusts turned a little more shallow, not when every push _up_ and _in_ crashed their arrays together with the familiar, bruising strength that only _brutes_ the likes of Megatron could truly manage.

Megatron was power, but he was so much more than that, too. Smart, charismatic when he wanted to be, an asshole the rest of the time, and the kind of leader even those that only respected strength agreed to follow, because Megatron _earned_ it with everything he was.

If he had to have a goddamn sparkling, there was no better _sire_ it could have. Hadn’t things worked out for the better, then, overall? He was free of the Autobots, he was lavished with the very best fucking he’d ever had, and he could express himself without anyone berating him for it. Maybe some would have considered him a captive with the way Megatron _decreed_ he stay within reach for the duration of his carry, but he hadn’t felt as _free_ in a long ass time. Not since the Pits.

This wasn’t autonomy. Megatron _really_ loved to take that from him, and it drove him fragging crazy, but still, it took little away from the feeling of being unusually _in control_ of his own life. That, despite everything that was going on in and around his frame, despite all the things he _couldn’t_ control.

Maybe he was still just riding the high of his sudden uprooting from the Autobots, but even if it was just that, he’d happily take it.

He moaned the next time Megatron shoved into his frame, pleasure building so quickly he could barely keep up with it. Sideswipe glanced up when there were pedesteps from the other end of the hallway, a pair of Seekers walking along it, glancing their way—having a double take. Sideswipe grinned at them, Megatron growled at them, and Sunstreaker didn’t give a _fuck._

The fliers were quick to scurry off, but Sideswipe could hear their snickering despite their best attempts to mute it as they hurried down the hall. 

This was what you got for interfacing in public, but what did it matter? Everyone was well aware Megatron railed him often and well, even if they’d done it behind closed doors up until now. Distantly he wondered if Hook’s apparent disinterest in what happened in his medbay would have extended to _fragging_ there. Maybe eventually he’d find out.

Sideswipe had little doubts that the gossiping wing things would spread the news of this far and wide. Sunstreaker didn’t really give a damn about that either. Let them talk, let that reach _Starscream,_ let him be jealous of what Sunstreaker was getting. Had to be a good way to get under his plating. A little healthy _rivalry,_ no?

His frame ran painfully hot and the cold wall at his back did nothing to cool him anymore. Megatron still wouldn’t release his servos, as much as Sunstreaker had lost all motivation to go anywhere—but it only drove him higher, up until he reached the tipping point and his frame tensed with the overload that overtook him. His shoulders ached from pulling against the grip Megatron had on him that prevented his frame from arching as it would have wanted to, but that didn’t matter. It mattered even less when Megatron allowed himself to be pulled over by the clenching of his calipers, pressing in deep and _rumbling_ his satisfaction as charge released from his frame, jumping into Sunstreaker’s and making him again jerk against Megatron’s hold.

Megatron didn’t release him, not even when they both climbed down, the tyrant’s spike a continued, hard intrusion in his frame. “Should we take this somewhere more _private?”_ Megatron asked, circling his hips with meaning.

Sunstreaker shivered from helm to pede at the feeling, his vents entirely uncooperative and hitching at the zaps of pleasure his sensors unhelpfully signaled him with.

Despite that, he found the strength to glare at the tyrant, kicking the backs of his thighs with all the force he could muster from this angle, and _growled._ “Go frag your slagging _self_ and stop wasting my time.”

Megatron laughed at him. “I’ll take that as a _yes.”_

_Slagger._


	14. Tear Into You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Am I beautiful  
>  As I tear you to pieces?  
> Am I beautiful?  
> Even at my ugliest, you always say  
> I'm beautiful  
> As you tear me to pieces  
> You are beautiful  
> Even at your ugliest, I always say  
> You're beautiful and sick like me_
> 
> — In This Moment – Sick Like Me

It turned into a public event, as little of a surprise as that was. They were _gladiators._ Fighting for show was what they did, even if the glory days of the Pits were long gone, brought down by Megatron himself.

But gone or not, their world was still familiar to most of the Decepticon army. There were many among their ranks that could appreciate a good showdown between skilled fighters—and Sunstreaker quite enjoyed providing shows of that nature. Didn’t he _deserve_ to be the center of attention, both for what he _was_ and what he could _do?_

And Megatron as his opponent only did him justice. Could he win? Probably not. Megatron had beaten him every time they had ever fought, _rightfully_ proving himself superior no matter the circumstances.

Would he still give it his best go? _Pit_ yeah. Anything less would’ve been nothing but an _embarrassment._ As much as winning was the goal, so was _entertaining,_ and testing yourself, pushing yourself to your limit in front of so many appreciative optics.

And this side of the war definitely could appreciate real fights like the Autobots never did. The Autobots were more concerned with not going _overt_ with the damage inflicted during sparring, and _real_ fights were supposed to be off the table entirely, as little as Sunstreaker had ever followed that rule. 

The Decepticons didn’t have such concerns. They were a violent bunch and seemed to only consider the injuries racked up as _inevitable,_ without seeing any reason to change their actions because someone or other got hurt and required repairs. Part of life, no? Nothing more, nothing less. No reason to make a number out of it. With continued access to Cybertron, they didn't even need to worry about resources—aside from the ever elusive energon—as the Autobots did.

That suited Sunstreaker just fine, as did the fact no one thought twice about him suffering injuries the same as everyone else, despite the fact he was _carrying._ The only reason anyone spent time having second thoughts before fighting him was his sheer proven prowess. He could scrap most of the mecha on either side of the war. Did you _really_ want to mess with him?

Megatron didn’t need to worry about things like that, though. Sunstreaker could provide him with a good fight, and he _would_ do so, but Megatron’s strength and ability exceeded even his own. Everyone knew that.

Didn’t stop Sunstreaker from immediately agreeing to the suggestion of another no holds barred fight, and that saw them here, in the training room with the majority of the Decepticon army on Earth standing aside, optics sharp on them. Megatron’s sword was extended and Sunstreaker held his own thermal sword, ready to carve his fragging _name_ in the warlord’s armor. As much as they were both weapons just by existing… Well, additional aids were damage multipliers, weren’t they? They evened the odds a little, allowed for greater damage on _both_ sides. That came in quite handy. 

Especially now. Megatron was, in frame, more of a weapon than he was. Once upon a time Sunstreaker would have considered them equal as far as their armaments went, but since then, he’d lost his claws, his fangs, his _edges_ —things Megatron still retained because who would _dare_ try to take those from him.

Didn’t matter. Sunstreaker still knew how to hit and how to tear, blunt digits or not, and he damn well knew how to handle a sword. Maybe he was at a disadvantage, maybe he was the underdog—then let it be so. It wouldn’t stop him from giving as good as he got.

“Haven’t we done this enough times already?” Sunstreaker asked as Megatron nodded at him, inviting him to make the first move. He did, rushing the warlord, dodging the blade that moved to intercept him, although he couldn’t break through Megatron’s defense enough to actually land a hit. Neither did he receive a hit either, though, dancing out of the way of Megatron’s attack on light pedes.

“Do you complain?” Megatron asked in return, moving on him, but Sunstreaker moved with him, staying just half a step ahead. Enough to save him until he could try to take an opening.

It didn’t work. Megatron blocked him, and wasn’t it satisfying to feel like his skill was _truly_ matched, like he’d be made to _work_ for every attack he could possibly land.

Sunstreaker’s mouth tugged into a smirk. “No. Why would I _ever_ say no to a chance of slagging you? Fragging well deserve it, at least.”

“Do I now?” the tyrant rumbled in amusement, sending Sunstreaker stumbling back with a strike of his sword, cutting _too deep_ into his plating. Megatron moved to a follow up attack in one fluent motion, but Sunstreaker wasn’t _there_ anymore when it was supposed to reach him, moving out of the way like quicksilver. 

“Damn well. Or did you forget everything you’ve done?” Sunstreaker’s sword connected with Megatron’s side, _too shallow,_ a second before he had to dodge again. There was no way it would’ve been _that_ easy, anyway. 

He’d be disappointed if it was. Megatron was supposed to be _better_ than that, and he was. 

“How large of a scale are we talking about, here?” Megatron humored him. Sunstreaker could surmise what he meant. There was many a mech who would take an issue with the whole _war_ Megatron had thrust Cybertron into—the atrocities he’d committed in the name of his cause. _Genocide._

Did Sunstreaker think he deserved an ass kicking for all that? He should have. He had been an _Autobot,_ a faction whose entire purpose was to oppose Megatron and everything he did and wanted to do. It was that insignia that still painted his chest, scratched out now. Why was he ever one of the red faction if he _didn’t_ think Megatron deserved to pay for his supposed crimes?

They knew already.

What, then? Did he think Megatron had been _right_ all along, justified in what he did? All the death he’d caused, the innocent he’d killed? What did he think of _that?_

“Scale of _my_ goddamn life,” Sunstreaker growled, jumping out of the way of Megatron’s slash that would have beyond hurt had it connected, and taking his chances with an attack of his own. It landed. Muted satisfaction burst in his spark. The sparklet in his chamber _vibrated,_ its excitement joining his own.

This was _right._ Fighting, testing his mettle, against its _sire_ too, proving to it and to himself once again that Megatron was powerful enough to be considered beyond desirable for the role. 

“Hm. And _everything else_ I’ve done?” the tyrant asked from him. Why? Was he genuinely curious?

Or was he _testing_ him? Megatron wanted him to fight. Not just like this—blades clashing against each other before one broke through, sharp cuts from Megatron’s, _searing_ slashes from Sunstreaker's—but in the war. _For_ him. Was this an attempt at gauging his current stance on the whole matter? 

“You didn’t do any of that to _me,”_ came Sunstreaker’s answer. He dove past Megatron’s defense again, and this time his sword sank deep into Megatron’s side, as much as the warlord knew how to angle himself to reduce the severity of the damage. Getting out of the way of the retaliation was as important as delivering hurt, but he only managed that with a hair’s breadth away from the harm Megatron wanted to inflict on him.

Good enough, all the same. 

_“Selfish,”_ Megatron commented, but it didn’t sound like an accusation as it would’ve been coming from any Autobot. More just an… Observation.

“You know it,” Sunstreaker grinned, unrepentant. As if it wasn’t common knowledge Sunstreaker didn’t really give a crap about anyone but himself. More reasons for the Autobots to dislike him. They put so much weight on _altruism,_ Optimus in particular. Oh, all the talks he had gotten for putting _himself_ first, at the cost of others. 

_Hadn’t really worked,_ any of those chastisements. He was yet to see the _error_ of his ways.

“And what of all the _good_ I’ve brought upon your life?” Megatron went on to ask. Sunstreaker frowned a second before he was too _slow_ and received a strike that sliced clean through his armor. He ignored the ache of the cut in favor of dodging to the side, away from Megatron’s follow up attack. But, if he’d hoped to take the chance to deliver an attack of his own, Megatron was quick to _squash_ those dreams. 

“What fucking _good?”_ Sunstreaker growled after he’d gathered his bearings and they were back to their scheduled _dancing,_ injuries, _wounds_ on both of them slowly piling up. “You _destroyed_ it.”

“As was necessary. I _freed_ you from the Autobots,” came Megatron’s argument, delivered in time with a feign Sunstreaker didn’t recognize as such, followed by a fast attack that _landed_ and had him reeling and scrambling out of the way for a precious second that ended with a cut on _Megatron_ when the tyrant was a little too slow to turn to face him. 

Sunstreaker couldn’t really disagree with Megatron on this one, though. He growled again instead, veering to the side quickly enough to deliver another attack that landed almost as it was intended to before Megatron could force him away.

“Ends justify the means, huh?” Sunstreaker asked after he’d dodged again, diving right back in the next moment to deliver a vicious strike upon the larger mech. “Waltz right in, announce my _crimes_ to the whole damn world, but that’s _fine_ because it would roast me out of the Autobots?” _Fragger._

“Do you disagree it was for the _best?”_ Megatron asked from him, then moved far faster than he had any right to. Sunstreaker couldn’t get out of the way quickly enough and Megatron’s blade sank into his armor, leaving yet another gaping tear behind.

But not deep enough to bleed. _Yet._

“What does it _matter?_ A little _too late_ to go back, now,” Sunstreaker hissed back. Whatever he thought of it wouldn’t change things anymore. There was no _fixing_ what Megatron had done.

“But not too late to move _forward,”_ the tyrant said—and why the slag did Sunstreaker feel like they were again circling back to the matter of _would he or would he not fight?_ He couldn’t go back to being an Autobot, not after everything… Not that he really wanted to, either.

Did he want to be _Neutral,_ then? Denounce his planet and his species for the sake of being outside the fight, picking no side?

Or would he rather continue _fighting?_

“You’re not really winning me over,” he growled at Megatron all the same, performing one attack, another… But the third was blocked and countered. Sunstreaker was forced to backpedal fast as he could manage, his engine revving in aggravation.

“You’re as stubborn as they come,” Megatron snarled back at him. Sunstreaker chuckled, twice so when he managed to turn the tables for a moment and jam his sword into a gap in Megatron’s armor.

“You’re only now noticing that?” he purred at the warlord even as he was forced to take a step back again, then another, and _another_ before he could slip to Megatron’s side. But no, even that didn’t work. This time there _was_ blood when Megatron swept his sword into him, deep enough to nick fuel lines. Sunstreaker could feel the wetness running down his internals, but he made damn sure Megatron’s plating melted under his own sword before he dodged out of the way. Wouldn’t do to give Megatron a chance to do something even worse, but there was no fragging way Sunstreaker was going to get the bastard get away with slag, either.

Now all he needed to do was return to the favor for real and have Megatron’s blood drip along his frame as Sunstreaker’s was.

“Hardly. Headstrong—it’s one of your more attractive qualities.”

This time Sunstreaker laughed outright, although he didn’t let it distract him from the fight, weaving his frame out of the way of Megatron’s attacks. The sparkling was pulsing urgently, growing even more excited at the feeling of his amusement.

And it was amusement. Pleasure, too, though no _surprise._ Maybe there should’ve been some, with the _trouble_ his stubbornness had caused Megatron. Lack of cooperation and whatnot.

But Sunstreaker was a creature of confidence that some said he took to a _sick_ level. True to that form, “Do I even _have_ any unattractive qualities?” Sunstreaker asked.

“I think you answered that question yourself,” Megatron responded, his field flaring with faint mirth of his own. Sunstreaker growled at the suggestion behind the words—that his _self-regard_ went over the top and that _wasn’t_ a positive quality. 

Well, frag that. The insecure wastes of space just couldn’t understand the comfort of _loving_ yourself.

Sunstreaker dismissed Megatron’s opinion entirely with, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And nearly got his arm cut off for not reading Megatron’s movement fast enough. That, though, wasn’t enough to distract either of them from their _conversation._

“I won’t claim it’s not _refreshing,_ as well,” Megatron conceded in time with Sunstreaker moving in, dodging past the tyrant’s attempted block and– Ah, _now_ there was blood from Megatron too. His blade cut deep and true before Megatron could jerk out of the way. Sunstreaker didn’t let him go so easily, even if he paid for his second attack with a deep groove on his own armor.

But the pain was rewarding. He’d _earned_ it.

And now that they were both _bloodied,_ it felt like the fight was _really_ starting. No Pit fight should be dry; it just wasn’t _entertaining_ without spilled energon tainting the ground. Sunstreaker vowed that Megatron’s blood would pool on the floor before they were done—and acknowledged that his own would likely join it in no small amount. If it didn’t, what were they even doing this for?

So he pressed his attack, no matter how Megatron gave no quarter—no matter how he had to work to evade the injuries that would’ve otherwise piled on him in truly painful amounts. But frag, what else was he supposed to do? He didn’t _want_ to do anything else. All he wanted was to dance on that blade’s edge, feel it every time he was too slow and it scraped along his body.

But also every time _Megatron_ wasn’t fast enough and it was _Sunstreaker’s_ sword that dug into him. Blood, they both wanted that—and they both _got it._

“So what you’re _really_ saying–” Sunstreaker continued, bringing his sword to block Megatron’s when it came down at him, and taking just that moment to meet the warlord’s optics. Sunstreaker smirked. “–Is that I have no _unattractive_ qualities.” Even the one Megatron named he only rescinded by calling it refreshing in the next moment. 

What surprise was it, though? He was beautiful, physically—but he also embodied so many of the things their _city_ had admired, in his behavior and personality. The Autobots had never appreciated his spirit. He was unyielding, ruthless, comfortable with himself, oft violent, _temperamental._ He wasn’t a pushover. He knew his worth and demanded others acknowledge it too.

He wasn’t a meek little thing like the _Autobots_ would’ve wanted him to be. He wasn’t humble, he wasn’t good.

He was everything an Autobot shouldn’t be, but everything a _Kaonite_ should be—and could it be that he was what a _Decepticon_ should be, too?

Maybe.

“You love to flatter yourself, don’t you?” Megatron rumbled. Slice, _cut._ Sunstreaker could feel the pain, _relished_ in it.

Ignored it. Delivered it. Megatron ignored it too, showing no signs of feeling his injuries any more than Sunstreaker was. They both possessed well trained pain tolerances, and when nothing vital had been severed yet… Well, there was no reason to act on the pain they were both feeling, and that was multiplying with every moment, with every time one of them couldn’t block or dodge and _paid_ for it.

Blood was beginning to flow faster, attacks on old wounds cutting deeper than the first pass had. _Hurting_ more, too, as their frames informed them of the mounting damage.

Fragging _right._ Bring it on, give more, back down _none._

Sunstreaker’s fans were running faster as the exertion began to build its effects, excitement and emotion only adding to the mess. He could hear the murmur of the Decepticons watching them, but ignored it with age old professionalism. Distractions weren’t _acceptable._

Especially not now, with Megatron as intent on bringing him down as Sunstreaker was on not _allowing_ that.

“Is it flattery if it’s just speaking the truth?” he asked, twisting his frame out of the way and _into_ Megatron, bringing his sword to where it would fragging well _hurt._ And he was hurt in return, and so it went.

Had he still had his claws, he would’ve used those on the tyrant too. He could picture all the ways he could’ve employed them in tandem with his sword, dig them in preexisting wounds, tear every time he was within reach, _accentuate_ the use of his blade and add to the damage he could deliver.

Because Megatron was definitely putting _his_ claws to use, and every time they scratched into him, Sunstreaker envied him for still having them. They drew more blood from him, tore at his armor, bent it, built atop the wounds already littering him.

More and more _blood,_ but it wasn’t just _his._ His sword damaged near as many lines on Megatron as what were being cut in his own frame. Pink was dribbling from the seams of their armors, all the way to the floor it began to slick.

_Better not lose your footing._

“Do you truly think yourself _flawless?”_

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Megatron growled at him, and it was just _insanity_ when the warlord stepped forward, right where Sunstreaker could drive his blade through his abdomen–

Only to misread Megatron’s intent and have the back of his helm grabbed. “You’re lucky you have your looks. Your attitude would be _very_ tiresome otherwise,” Megatron growled lowly at him. Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if anyone else could even hear him—or if anyone else was _meant_ to hear him.

But where Megatron could have caught him tight enough to _crush…_ He didn’t. In fact, Sunstreaker was able to pull himself free and retreat a couple of steps away. “I don’t think you mind my _attitude_ as much as you say you do,” he grinned before he dove right back in. Their swords clashed, then they didn’t, then they _cut_ —more blood joined the mess on the floor, more armor was mutilated. Char from the heat of Sunstreaker’s sword tainted the edges of Megatron’s injuries; the edges of Sunstreaker’s wounds were ragged where Megatron’s had torn deeper into them.

Deep, shallow, it all hurt, all piled on top of each other and itself until important parts _were_ reached after all this time, when even their thick plating wasn’t enough to protect them anymore. The engine in Sunstreaker’s left arm suffered under Megatron’s sword—Sunstreaker switched his sword to his right hand. Megatron’s engine was rattling where Sunstreaker had managed to sink his sword into it. Something in his leg was severed, giving the tyrant a _limp._

Yet that wasn’t enough to noticeably slow either of them down—not enough to end their fight _so soon._

But it was entering its twilight phase all the same. They could only carry on for so long at the pace they were building injuries on each other. Their ventilations turned more ragged, both from the heat that built in their systems, as well as the damage their vents suffered along with the rest of their frames. The floor was painted in pink; it was harder to not slip on the steps they took, back and forth. Harder yet for Sunstreaker as the one who had to move more, when he couldn’t possibly accept the same amount of damage Megatron could put up with if it meant hurting Sunstreaker worse. 

And oh, he was _hurting._ His injuries throbbed at him in time with the rapid pulse of his spark—his excitement, the sparkling’s excitement, his thrill, the sparkling’s thrill merging together until there was more emotion than Sunstreaker could have ever managed on his own. His frame was on the verge of lagging dangerously, too, as much as he could force it into full cooperation _for now._

Megatron was only doing better to an extent, but it was still becoming obvious he was gaining the upper hand, his size and durability simply surpassing Sunstreaker’s—and Sunstreaker couldn’t make up for it by causing more damage than what was being caused on him. Quite the opposite.

Didn’t matter. What mattered was that Megatron had a limp, there was terrible grinding coming from his right arm with every motion he forced it into, and he was bleeding more than just a little. Sunstreaker had done that to him. His armor was split in so many places. He could almost feel Megatron’s injuries as phantom sensations on top of his own.

Never let it be said he had gone down easily. Never let it be said he hadn’t hurt Megatron.

But go down he did. Megatron drove his sword through his abdomen first when Sunstreaker made just one mistake, too slow to get out of the way. Blood gushed forth when energon lines were cut well and proper, but that alone wouldn’t have been enough to down him. No, Sunstreaker merely backed away from his _impalement,_ fast as he could, but before he was free… Megatron _yanked_ his sword sideways.

Sunstreaker gasped when it tore through far too much machinery, his armor barely enough to stop Megatron’s strength before he would have halfway cut him in _two._

Even that wasn’t _serious enough_ to bring him down on its own, but it forced him to reorient himself from the damage warnings that, along with the simple _pain,_ clued him in on quite a few parts that stopped working entirely, and others yet that were verging on that point.

He took too long with that, was distracted for too many precious seconds. He jerked away when Megatron _kicked_ at him, but that only put him in the path of the blunt impact of the hilt of Megatron’s sword to his _face._

Was he steady on his pedes, he may have been able to overcome even that much.

He wasn’t.

His footing didn’t keep on the blood slicked floor and Sunstreaker came crashing down, landing hard with a grunt as nearly every damn part of his frame complained about the impact. Still, he would have tried to get to his pedes if Megatron hadn’t knelt _on_ his fragging abdomen. Sunstreaker’s vocalizer glitched to static at the agony, thoroughly distracting him from the sword that pressed to his throat.

Decapitation. Not deadly, but more than incapacitating. Sunstreaker’s vents _heaved_ as he tried to push the pain aside enough to focus on his predicament.

His optics eventually found Megatron’s, finding the tyrant staring down at him, his expression unreadable.

 _Everyone_ knew he had won, though. Sunstreaker only confirmed that with, “I yield,” spoken loud enough for the observers.

At once the gathered Decepticons broke into cheers and _jeers,_ whooping for the high of a good fight, laughing both for the victory of their leader and for Sunstreaker’s loss. The sparkling shook along with the thrum of the cacophony of noise, dancing to the rapid rotation of Sunstreaker’s spark, asking for _more_ still.

Was nothing enough? 

Megatron’s sword disappeared back into his arm and his knee rose from Sunstreaker’s abdomen. Sunstreaker sucked in a sharp ventilation as the damaged parts were again realigned by the lack of pressure. Distracted by it, he jerked when Megatron’s servo came to his chin, taking a hold of it. Sunstreaker met his optics again as the tyrant traced his thumb along his lower lip. “Blood looks good on you,” Megatron commented.

Sunstreaker huffed a laugh. “Ditto.” It was what Megatron _deserved,_ and no doubt the warlord thought the same of him. You know, for his _attitude._

But here he was, with Megatron above him, straddling his frame now. Sunstreaker’s optics brightened and Megatron’s optical ridges rose inquisitively in response, right before Sunstreaker forced his aching frame into motion and _arched_ up against the larger frame. Megatron didn’t need any time to understand, his optics coming to glow a little brighter too. His engine rumbled even as Sunstreaker had to fight his ventilations that wanted to _again_ come fast and hard and ragged. Something to do with the pain in his frame, that he dedicated himself to ignoring in favor of locking into a staring contest with the tyrant.

Whose servo slipped between their frames, brushing against his valve cover. “In front of everyone?” Megatron growled at him.

Sunstreaker growled back. “You object?”

“Hardly.” He wasn’t given a chance to retract a damn thing this time. Megatron claws hooked into the seams of his valve panel as they had who knew how many times already, and like who knew how many times before, the cover was torn clean off.

The sting of that was completely eclipsed by everything else his frame was going through. He didn’t give a frag about it, he only cared about the digits that pushed into his valve without the obstruction in the way. It was as slick as the floor, lubricant making the entrance of Megatron’s claws a smooth glide. The headiness of the preceding fight wasn’t lost to either of them, and Sunstreaker’s ventilations were quick to speed up for reasons that had nothing to do with the aches of his frame. 

The Decepticons had quickly caught on to the shift, and their cheers had rather changed in nature. Catcalls filled the air as well as dirty encouragements and lewd laughter. Clearly, they weren’t the _prudish_ lot in the slightest. 

Sunstreaker didn’t mind being the center of attention in this, either. Fighting, fucking, was there so much difference? Both were raw sports that laid you bare for others to see. Blood, internals—lubricant and transfluid, retracted covers. They weren’t so far removed.

Megatron was all on board with this, by all appearances. His digits thrust in and out until Sunstreaker was well and truly ready—as if he hadn’t been so all the while—only for the tyrant to release his spike and replace his digits with it.

Sunstreaker hiked his hips up for better angle as Megatron pushed into him, despite the pain of his midsection. He wasn’t about to let that stop him, no matter how the way Megatron fetched his spike only to _slam_ back in made his vents hitch and vocalizer produce some more static.

Primus, it hurt. His abdomen loudly told him all about how it hated him right then, even as his valve sang its praises as Megatron set up a pace that was no less _punishing_ than usual, only this time made all the more so by the multitude of injuries they both sported.

Megatron had to feel it too. There was no way he was unaffected by forcing his frame into motion like this, this fast, this _violent,_ right after the bloodshed they’d just inflicted on each other.

But he didn’t let that slow him, and pits, Sunstreaker fragging well didn’t ask him to slow down, to go _easy_ on him just because he was hurting.

No, Sunstreaker arched into him. Sunstreaker wove his arms behind the warlord’s neck and pulled him down as his damage warnings piled in even greater numbers on his HUD. As his frame informed him of how much more it was _breaking_ under Megatron’s administrations, Sunstreaker pressed their lips together, moaning—no fake—when Megatron overtook him, his glossa slipping into his mouth, lips pressing tighter, and his hips pistoning harder, if that was even possible. It was stretch and fullness like always, the abuse of what felt like every last sensor in his valve.

Sunstreaker shuddered from pleasure and agony both until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. The sensations melded together until one only added to the other, and he fragging _hurt,_ but he felt _spectacular,_ his valve clenching as his frame was brutally driven towards completion. 

He could taste Megatron’s own pain in his field. It was gratification, proof that he had fought well and true, but also, even more proof that Megatron wasn’t _weak_ in any sense of the word. It didn’t matter he was aching, he was still willing and able to take his prize.

Neither of them was weak. The sparkling wouldn’t be weak either, not with creators like them.

And if it _was_ despite that… Well, would they have any need for it? This wasn’t a world for the feeble. He wouldn’t _accept_ that.

But it was unlikely to come to pass. It wasn’t weak in spark, not now, not ever, pushing at him, riding every exhilarating emotion, _demanding_ that he feed it more of it. It was lively, it was gaining more mass with every passing day—it was thriving, healthy. Why would it change that course all of a sudden?

It wouldn’t, he was certain of that as it spun faster in its own rotation in time with the pleasure growing in his frame. He rocked into Megatron’s thrusts no matter the pain, bit down on the tyrant’s lip to another growl from him. A sharp jab of Megatron’s hips had Sunstreaker’s vents seizing when it jarred his injuries.

He wouldn’t have it any other way. His servo grasped the back of Megatron’s helm, locking him in place as the pleasure crested and he groaned against the warlord’s lips. Charge released from his frame and he tensed, further hurting himself, more warnings popping up on his HUD.

Fucking _worth it._ _This_ was the way to feel, _this_ was the way to live, and he was fragging _done_ having anyone tell him otherwise. 

By the continued racket around them, he was no further from his _kin_ here than he had been in Kaon, in the Pits. The noise only increased when Megatron growled his own overload, jerking his hips into Sunstreaker to another pained hiss from him—whooping for their completion, for the sight of charge crackling across both their frames. It was a show from start to finish, all of it.

Never let them forget where Sunstreaker had come from—the very same place as so many of them.

He loosened his hold on Megatron and with another graze of sharp denta across his lips the tyrant pulled away from him until there was enough distance for their gazes to meet, amusement in Megatron’s optics… As well as something else. Sunstreaker couldn’t quite name it. Approval?

Ugh. Frag him and opinions. “Done already?” Sunstreaker growled at him, jabbing his digits into a deep gash on Megatron’s side and relishing in the jerk of the tyrant’s frame. _Did that hurt?_

Megatron responded by rather meaningfully tracing his damaged midsection, and just the threat of what he could do to injure him further had Sunstreaker snarling some more. _“Mercy_ is so overrated, isn’t it?” the tyrant asked from him in return–

Before _driving_ his claws into the gaping wound of his abdomen, in time with a harsh thrust into his valve. The dual pain on that one area of his frame had Sunstreaker’s helm snapping back against the floor, but he didn’t scream, only ground his denta together and _groaned._

 _“Frag you,”_ he panted once he could will his optics open again, glaring at the tyrant now sporting an _entirely_ benevolent smile. Megatron drew back… Thrust back in, and his claws remained _in_ his abdomen. It was pain, plain and simple—but also _satisfaction,_ the knowledge of what Megatron was ready and willing to do clouding Sunstreaker’s good sense. 

“Backing down already?” Megatron wondered with an innocent tilt of his helm, as if he wasn’t aggravating already severe injuries.

Sunstreaker yanked on _Megatron’s_ wounds a little harder this time, bending his plating until the tyrant was growling a warning at him.

The twin grinned. “Keep fucking dreaming.”


	15. Suckerpunch

Driving. As exhilarating as flying could be, for a grounder nothing rarely beat _driving._ Even Sideswipe, as much as he enjoyed heights, wouldn’t have wanted to switch his wheels for wings. It was enough that he could facilitate short-term flight with his jetpack. That was all he’d ever asked for.

Sunstreaker didn’t fear heights any more than his brother did, and he enjoyed well paved roads as much as he did.

They were all sporty vehicles—namely, him, Sideswipe, Drag Strip, and _Wildrider_ of all mecha—and it was a true race as they tore through the roads at utterly _reckless_ speeds. The artificial limitations on their engines were done away with in favor of chasing Wildridre and Drag Strip and being chased by them, because the Decepticons for sure didn’t bother even pretending they were normal Earth vehicles. 

No normal Earth vehicle, definitely not ones of their respective alt-modes, could reach the speeds they were going at.

The sparkling was just about soaring, pulsing its excitement madly, and Sunstreaker had to admit he felt quite a bit of that emotion himself. Not just because of the speeds they were traveling in, but because driving with Wildrider would have been utterly _terrifying,_ were Sunstreaker prone to the emotion. The mech was mad. Absolutely mad, and on the road with him was the _last_ place you wanted to be in. 

But they’d never said no to a good challenge, and when Wildrider had asked if they’d like to go out for a _drive_ with him… Good sense would have said “hell no”.

They had no good sense, apparently. All they’d needed to do to get permission to go from the _high and mighty command_ was take along a fourth mech, and it was only natural to ask another of the Stunticons. Drag Strip, then, because racing the ambitious mech absolutely obsessed with always winning could only go well. 

The plan was fool proof. Give no fucks about any Earth rules and limitations, stick to the well maintained roads because they were all of alt-modes that couldn’t really handle anything else, and fucking _drive._

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone this fast, this hard, this long. Every curve taken was a death trap, made only more so by Wildrider’s presence. About no one wanting to drive with him, not even his fellow Stunticons? Yeah, that was for a good reason. Anything and everything he could do to harass them into a costly mistake, he did.

Driving at high speeds was a challenge on its own. Doing that while someone was doing their damnedest to make you _crash,_ well, that was on another level. They’d never actually participated in wreck racing before, and while this wasn’t that _officially,_ it was probably real damn close to the real experience. The death traps and ramps were missing, but the murderous competition definitely wasn’t.

Drag Strip hadn’t been too thrilled to come along for that very reason, but the call of showing two Lamborghinis who was the _best_ and the _fastest_ eventually won over the well earned fear of Wildrider. So far, though, nothing disastrous had happened despite Wildrider’s road manners. It wasn’t that there hadn’t been far too many close calls for anyone sane’s comfort, but Drag Strip had had quite a bit of practice at surviving Wildrider, and the twins weren’t bad drivers by any measure. They could handle it.

They burned through rubber and energon for _hours._ The sun was barely up when they’d left the Victory, and it was well on its downward arch now, when Drag Strip suggested a _final_ finish line to their race. Choose the victor once and for all—or at least, for this particular outing. No doubt there would be a grudging loser who’d want a rematch, no matter who made it over the finish line first.

But so they settled on a particular crossroads coming up ahead as their final destination. Whoever passed it first—that would be crowned the victor of today. 

With that goal in mind, Wildrider turned even more wild, Drag Strip pushed himself to his limit, Sideswipe rerouted more power into his engine, and Sunstreaker… Tried not to have his finish scratched by Wildrider. That, and if they came in enough contact to damage his finish, chances were a painful wreck would soon follow.

No contact was the best course of action, but Wildrider did _not_ make it easy. Whatever was the mech’s obsession with being an absolute terror on the roads, he was very serious about it. If you didn’t know any better you’d think he was trying to _kill_ you. 

Or maybe he was, despite all the reasons why killing Sunstreaker right then would’ve been a _terrible_ idea—mostly centering around the sparkling and Megatron’s retribution if _you_ caused something to happen to it. 

But equally likely it was that Wildrider just didn’t consider those kinds of things, or didn’t give a frag. He had quite a few screws loose already; that really wasn’t a stretch of the imagination.

After another near miss _swerve_ Sunstreaker was at least able to put himself ahead of Wildrider and not have to worry about him sideswiping him off the road—or into the unforgiving rock face that rose up on their left.

Instead he got to worry about him ramming his rear, but the remedy to that was to just be _faster._

Sideswipe was ahead the both of them, neck to neck with Drag Strip, but then he inched _past_ him, slowly but steadily. His brother couldn’t entirely undo his failsafes as Sunstreaker sometimes _unwittingly_ did, but he knew how to push himself to his _absolute_ limit within those constraints, and he did just that now.

All to win the race, despite forcing his engine into redlining. Heat blasted from the vents of his alt-mode, and Drag Strip wasn’t much better off. His field was determination. Sideswipe’s was thrill.

The sparkling was drowning him in that too. He hadn’t raced just like this yet, not with it—if he _ever_ had—but it was loving every moment of it, every close call that sent a _zap_ through Sunstreaker’s spark, and the _speed._ Wind whipped across his alt-mode as he fought against the atmosphere, and that was enough to bring out the best of his spark—the elementary of what it was like to have _wheels._

Would the little one ever know the feeling? Time would tell what alt-mode it would choose, or if it would go for _several_ like its sire. Moreso it would remain to be seen whether the one or one of the two modes it would choose would have tires, but even if it would… There was still the chance that it would choose to be too large for the kind of physical feats their smaller frames allowed the twins to do.

Racing like this, for example. Maybe it could drive, but you needed to be a comparatively smaller, lighter frame to drive like _this._

Those would be choices it would need to make later. Maybe this experience would influence it though. Who knew.

And it was _Sideswipe_ who made it across their finish line first, hitting the brakes as soon as he did and spinning into a victorious stop. Drag Strip’s engine revved first in exertion, then in _annoyance_ as he too reached the end of their race and braked to a screeching stop that left black tire marks on the asphalt. 

Sunstreaker was the next to reach them, turning sharply out of Wildrider’s way who shot _way_ past the lot of them in his attempt to ram Sunstreaker’s rear. Sideswipe cackled as he transformed back to his pedes, and Sunstreaker couldn’t say he wasn’t smiling when he did the same.

Drag Strip came out of his alt-mode too, his face like a thundercloud. Sideswipe gave him a saccharine smile. “Looks like you still have some improvement to do. I can show you some tricks!”

“You cheated, you damn well did!” Drag Strip accused him, marching over and jabbing a digit in Sideswipe’s face.

His brother had the _audacity_ to laugh at the accusation. Drag Strip growled, and… Then the two were already tumbling across the desert dirt, away from the rock wall framing one side of the road.

You know, the one Wildrider had tried to have him slam against for the past mile or so.

“You’re nuts,” Sunstreaker commented to the mad mech once he drove back from the distance he’d driven to in his _excitement._

Wildrider laughed as he transformed. He sounded a lot like a hyena when he did that, and there probably wasn’t even the whisper of an apologetic thought in him. “You’re not exactly the picture of sanity either, _Sunny.”_

Sunstreaker _hmphed,_ ignoring the jab of a nickname. It wasn’t like _that_ particular one was forbidden territory. 

Primus help anyone who dared utter the ones he wasn’t okay with.

Drag Strip and Sideswipe were… It wasn’t really fighting, more just shoving each other around and sometimes tossing one to the dirt. And bickering. Or, Drag Strip throwing insults and more accusations of whatever manner of things—Sunstreaker was pretty sure he had Sideswipe painted as a criminal mastermind at this point—and Sideswipe doing a good impression of Wildrider with his laughter. His lack of a proper reaction only aggravated Drag Strip further.

On and on they went. Sunstreaker sighed, running a servo down his face as the two tumbled their way towards the sunset. So _atmospheric._

And he was off guard, he knew he was. There had been nothing the whole day to suggest there was any reason to be _on_ guard, so he wasn’t. He didn’t notice anything amiss before the thudding clang of metal hitting the pavement had him glancing to his side in alarm, just to see Wildrider a graceless heap on the ground.

His optics shot upward in the next moment, meeting Mirage’s gaze. “Sorry about this,” the spy said, but before Sunstreaker could do more than _rev_ in fruitless threat, Mirage had already put his spec ops training to good use.

The world was very quick to go dark.

Not for Sideswipe, though, but it was fragging _impossible_ to miss first Sunstreaker’s alarm, then the… _Nothing_ that followed. At once he shook Drag Strip off of him and turned back to the direction of Sunstreaker and Wildrider. It wasn’t hard to recognize Mirage.

It was even easier to make out the sound of a fast approach by aerials that _weren’t_ Seekers. He really wished they had been. Things were far too complicated for Autobots to be considered _friends_ anymore—and complicated enough to consider the _Decepticons_ that instead. 

But now they were quickly getting outnumbered by _Autobots,_ and Sunstreaker was out for the count already. So was Wildrider by the looks of things. That was two against six at best, and that was assuming no other Autobots were inbound.

Sideswipe would’ve taken his chances with them anyway, if Drag Strip hadn’t caught him by the arm. “Don’t–”

“I can’t just do nothing!” Sideswipe viciously interrupted whatever the Stunticon wanted to say, and tried to yank himself free. His spark was spinning wildly in his chassis, strangling him and he had to–

Drag Strip’s hold was surprisingly strong though, and he only yanked back, nearly pulling Sideswipe off his balance.

“That’s suicide!” Drag Strip hissed at him just as the Aerialbots, _all of them,_ landed. Skyfire, too. The Autobots didn’t approach them, and Drag Strip wouldn’t let him approach them– “Or maybe not suicide, but you’ll just fragging get yourself captured too!”

Was that what the Autobots wanted to do? _Capture_ Sunstreaker?

_Why the pit would they do that?_

What else were they doing? This was looking a _little_ incriminating. Sideswipe growled and he still tried to pull himself free—and Drag Strip still wouldn’t let him. Frustration mounted until he would’ve slugged the fucker across the face if Drag Strip hadn’t continued, “What good are you if you get captured too, huh? You’re tied, right? We won’t know what the frag’s happening to you if they have _both_ of you.”

Sideswipe thought fast, trying and mostly failing at piecing his thoughts together beyond _no this can’t be happening!_ But, he did get the point—point being that he would be the window to everything the Autobots would do to Sunstreaker, _if_ he was with the Decepticons.

Could he really help Sunstreaker if he went with him? He’d just be… Slag, he didn’t know what the Autobots were even planning, but he’d be in the same mess, and maybe there would be nothing he could realistically do about it from the inside–

But if he stayed on the _outside…_

Sideswipe keened, but he had to… Frag, he had to look at the bigger picture, past the _moment._ Megatron would never let this stand, not with his sparkling on the line too. He’d blow a hole straight through the Autobots if it meant getting it back, Sideswipe didn’t doubt that.

It would save Sunstreaker by extension.

And this was about _saving_ him, wasn’t it? He couldn’t help his brother right now, not really, but it remained Sunstreaker wasn’t agreeing to this. They were taking his _choice_ away from him, and who knew what the pit they were planning to do next.

Who fucking _knew…_

_“Fuck fuck fuck,”_ Sideswipe chanted quietly, grabbing his helm with his free servo—but did he have any real choice, if he wanted to do the _smart_ thing?

The smart thing right then wasn’t giving in to his near overwhelming desire to stay with Sunstreaker.

“What about Wildrider?” he asked, knowing his optics were wide, pale, and wild. His spark felt pretty wild too, fighting his processors on what to do—follow his emotions, or follow the conclusion of his thoughts.

He _had_ to do the latter. 

“Lost cause,” was all Drag Strip said before tugging at him, his field not much calmer than what Sideswipe felt, though probably for different reasons.

It was clear he was in a big rush to get away. Sideswipe wasn’t, but… _Do the smart thing._

Get the fuck away from here before the Autobots could do something to them too.

Get the fuck back to the Decepticons. If he wanted this mess to be cleared somehow… He couldn’t do it on his own.

And he couldn’t disagree that there wasn’t anything more they could do for Wildrider than there was anything they could do for Sunstreaker right then. 

“Yeah, okay,” Sideswipe said, or tried to, but slag his voice was so full of static. His head swam, but he had to keep it together, he had to, _he had to…_

He could barely pull a single vent without choking on thin air, but he didn’t resist this time when Drag Strip pulled him, and followed the Stunticon through his transformation.

They peeled off, back in the direction of the Victory, the moment their wheels hit the ground.


	16. Villain

His battle protocols had had the time to activate, and as always when he went under with them running, coming back up wasn’t a slow, peaceful climb into consciousness.

It was a violent whiplash that had every system roaring to life simultaneously, no time wasted on testing if everything even still _worked._

Sunstreaker’s optics snapped open to the bright orange ceiling of the _Ark,_ and he shot to sitting immediately after, his frame primed for a fight and very eager to remind him of the circumstances of how he’d lost consciousness.

As it was though, there was no _immediate_ threat around him that he could see. He was… In the brig, the glowing energy bars of that particular cell trapping him inside.

That wasn’t too much of a surprise considering how he’d gotten _snatched._ The Autobots had rightly assumed that he would _not_ have gone willingly if they’d just asked nicely. 

They had also assumed rightly that he wouldn’t hang around if given the option to leave. That option clearly wasn’t given to him now. For whatever reason—and it could be no reason that would end well for him—they wanted him _here,_ and were ready enough to force the matter by locking him up entirely. 

This couldn’t be good, not for him, and… Not for the sparklet. Maybe _especially_ not for the sparklet. Sunstreaker couldn’t stamp down on his anxiety before the little one had already responded, vibrating in his chamber, next to his own spark, in a way it hadn’t before. These weren’t good emotions, like were really all of the ones it had gotten to experience so far.

Figures it would be the _Autobots_ to provide it with its first negative impressions of life. 

Had his spark felt any calmer, he could have tried to calm it, but pits, he wasn’t exactly calm himself. There was anxiety, some poorly articulated fear, but more than anything, there was his ever familiar _anger._ This sparkling was no stranger to that after every time Megatron had annoyed him, sometimes some of the other ‘Cons, but this time there was no… _Thrill_ to go with it. No enjoyment under it, like he would have enjoyed Megatron’s attention even if the mech was driving him nuts.

None of the enjoyment of delivering some hurt to whichever ‘Con was aggravating at the time, usually in the training ring.

This was just anger, and fear, and anxiety—and, maybe, helplessness.

How helpless was he, really? A quick scan of his systems at least confirmed they’d locked his subspace, and pits, done who knows what to him while he was under. Sunstreaker quickly pulled up his logs, rubbing at his chest as he did. It wasn’t altogether comfortable to feel the sparkling twist and turn, nervous itself, even if it didn’t really understand what the threat was.

The plating of his chassis wasn’t smooth under his servo, not with the gash Megatron had dug across his insignia. His servo caught on the rough edges of it and made it impossible to forget how much he _wasn’t_ an Autobot anymore. These weren’t friendly hands that had captured him.

And that was what they’d done. _Captured_ him. Kidnapped, really. 

They’d rooted around his systems, too. His physical readings had been looked at, armor shifted around presumably to have a look underneath—his coding hadn’t been tampered with, no fixes had been attempted, but he had more recent logs of diagnostic runs, and traces of the opening of several bits of programming. Not for edits, clearly, but for viewing.

Quite many of those related to the _carrier protocols_ Hook and Ratchet had already looked at. Many other readings that had been viewed belonged to the systems keeping tabs on the sparkling.

A medic’s signature had been left behind, too. Sunstreaker feared the worst when he looked at who had rooted around his frame while he was unconscious, but… It wasn’t Ratchet.

First Aid.

Sunstreaker growled to himself. He didn’t know why _Ratchet_ wasn’t the one to have examined him, but some part of him was relieved he hadn’t… Really, breached their trust like that. Maybe he shouldn’t trust Ratchet anymore, but slaggit, he did anyway, at least to an extent. They didn’t belong to the same side anymore, but Ratchet had ethics and a personal code he followed. 

_They didn’t belong to the same side anymore._ Had they and Sunstreaker would have only considered it natural he’d have taken a look at his systems. That was what medics did.

But now, that consent didn’t exist. Were they enemies? He wasn’t a Decepticon either, so maybe not.

But they were _not_ comrades, or allies. 

First Aid, clearly, hadn’t cared about details like that, although Sunstreaker wondered under whose bidding he’d performed the rather thorough examination on. 

He wasn’t distracted enough by his internal investigation to miss the sound of someone moving to the outside of his cell, and he definitely didn’t miss the shadow cast they cast with the corridor lights behind them. 

Sunstreaker lifted his gaze, glaring even before his optics landed on… Ironhide. The twin threw his legs off the side of the small slab of a berth just as Ironhide brought one servo to the side of his helm. “He’s up.”

Oh, they were _waiting_ on him, were they?

Ironhide’s servo dropped, and so did his optics—landing on Sunstreaker’s servo on his chassis, still trying to ease the physical sensation of the sparkling’s growing distress as his mood only soured further instead of providing relief to the little thing.

Somehow Sunstreaker _really_ didn’t appreciate the scrutiny, and let his arm slip away, doubling his glare. Ironhide didn’t look away right away, though, instead frowning at his chassis—and the insignia he still wore, but only to show he no longer belonged to that side.

“The slag you looking at?” Sunstreaker snapped once he got tired of the staring. Ironhide jerked from whatever trance he’d fallen into and looked up at him, in the optic _for a fragging change._ He opened his mouth to say something, too, but before he could, there was commotion from outside the main doors to the brig. Even Sunstreaker could hear it.

It wasn’t quite yelling, but it was clear enough there was an argument. He couldn’t make out all of the words, really, none of them—except some of those spoken by a voice that he couldn’t mistake.

Ratchet. The medic was rather vocal right then, as he always was when he was angry. Was he angry now? Sounded like so. Sunstreaker tuned his audials to listen in, but he could still only catch snippets. “–The stress you’re putting him under–!

“No!

“This is insanity–!

 _“I’m_ the physician–!

“Slag no!

“–let me–!”

“–Do _not_ have my support!”

Then it ended. Sunstreaker could imagine Ratchet’s angry march as he left. He could definitely hear the stomping that always accompanied that.

The doors to the brig opened after. It wasn’t as if Sunstreaker could see who it was from where he was, but he didn’t need to guess for long because his _visitors_ made their way straight to him.

Ratchet wasn’t among them, of course he wasn’t. Ironhide nodded at the arrivals—at Optimus, at Prowl, at Jazz.

High command then, basically. Sunstreaker got to his pedes, not particularly feeling like being shorter than everyone else. Upright and the only one who still managed to tower over him was the goddamn _Prime._ “Should I feel honored little old me is getting so _important_ visitors?” he asked oh so _sincerely,_ crossing his arms over his chassis and glaring some more.

But not before he was sure everyone had gotten a _real_ good look at his chassis, his ruined insignia. Yeah yeah, ogle away, what did he care! What the slag were they _expecting?_ That he would’ve no longer had an insignia at all? That he’d have a _Decepticon_ one instead?

Honestly, both were probably fair assumptions, just not very… _Megatron._

And still, despite the fucking fact he hadn’t been an Autobot for quite a few months, _still,_ fragging _still_ both Prowl and Ironhide saw fit to give him a _disapproving_ look. For what? His slagging disrespect? _Cry him a river,_ they all had it coming after this. Sunstreaker revved his engine, angrier by the second—and the sparkling growing ever more restless, until his core was really starting to feel too small for the both of them and he had to fight the urge to go back to rubbing his chestplates, despite the fact that did absolutely no good. 

“I know these circumstances are less than ideal–” Optimus started, ever the diplomat, but Sunstreaker cut him off without fanfare or mercy.

 _“‘Less than ideal’?_ You fucking _kidnap_ me and lock me in the goddamn _brig,”_ he hissed, stepping up to the bars and craning his neck back to glare the Prime in the optic. “So would you fucking tell me what the frag is my crime _this_ time?”

“Disregarding all of the events prior to your… Defection,” Prowl said, smooth and cool as ever. Sunstreaker transferred his glare at him, but then Jazz picked up where the SIC left off and that was yet another mech that deserved to be the recipient of his attempt at dropping them dead with his optics alone.

“There’s no crime, Sunstreaker,” was what Jazz had to say, but then _he_ didn’t continue because Optimus spoke up again, and could they just fucking _decide_ who was going to speak instead of transferring the script from one mech to another?

And what did Optimus say? “This is for your own good.”

Red. That was what Sunstreaker saw, besides the shadow creatures blotting out the edges of his vision. He laughed, although there wasn’t much _humor_ behind the sound. “I knew it,” Sunstreaker said, his voice barely more than a guttural growl—words hardly there with the fucking _anger_ that was really starting to get the better of him, and he was quickly losing the will to even try to fight it.

The sparkling flared, hard, and this time Sunstreaker uncrossed his arms to rub at his chest before he could think better of it. He continued all the same, _“Optimus Prime,_ ever the _altruist._ So what the pit did I need _saving_ from this time?” He was pretty damn sure he fucking knew already, but fragging _Prime_ could spell it out for himself.

“We had reason to think your allegiance to Megatron is forced,” Prowl said, simply enough.

“And why’s that?” Sunstreaker growled, one unpleasant option quickly coming to the forefront. “Did _Ratchet_ talk?”

“No,” Optimus said with feeling, as if he fragging _cared_ how Sunstreaker felt about Ratchet, “Ratchet respected patient confidentiality. If he hadn’t…”

“You already know our concerns are valid, don’t you?” Prowl asked.

Sunstreaker stayed silent, only meeting the tactician’s optics without a waver. So, this was how it was always going to go, no matter what Ratchet had done? He didn’t talk, and they wanted to find out the answers for themselves.

He talked, and they’d have _still_ done something, because their goddamn ‘concerns’ would have gotten _validated_ by Ratchet’s findings.

“First Aid saw your protocols are active,” Optimus said, inclining his helm. There was worry—probably _genuine—_ in his optics when Sunstreaker looked back at him.

“That don’t access my emotional cortex,” Sunstreaker snapped before Optimus could say any more. “I fragging know already.”

He also knew _that_ wasn’t the issue. 

“But they _do_ make you predisposed to the sire,” Prowl confirmed as much. “Even without response from your emotional cortex, that is worrisome.”

Deep breaths. He wanted to fragging _explode_ on the spot like a goddamn star going supernova, but… Oh, what the fuck was he expecting? That they’d listen to _anything_ he’d say at this point?

What good would talking be? “Why didn’t Ratchet examine me?” he ground out anyway, because that was a point of real curiosity.

“Ratch refused,” Jazz responded. “He wanted nothing to do with this.”

Well, at least _someone_ was doing the right thing. One fragging _decent_ Autobot on the whole goddamn planet.

Optimus cleared his vocalizer, bringing everyone’s attention back to him. Sunstreaker cut him off again, though, right as the Prime was about to speak. “It doesn’t matter that I’ve said, _several times,_ that _I want_ to stay with the Decepticons?” he snarled, as much as he already knew the answer.

“We can’t be certain how much your protocols are affecting you,” Optimus said anyway. “I fear it is not truly _your_ choice, but rather forced upon you by your coding—and by Megatron himself.”

 _“This_ is not my choice,” Sunstreaker hissed, leaning close enough to the bars that he could feel their _heat_ on his faceplates, “being here. _My choice_ is being with the Decepticons.”

“And Megatron plays no role in that?” Prowl asked, disbelieving.

“Our desires align.” They wouldn’t believe that though, would they?

“Could be that’s just the carrier coding talking,” Jazz pointed out.

Yeah, see, they didn’t believe _slag._

“I find it hard to believe you would stay truly voluntarily, were you unaffected by your coding,” Optimus rumbled. Something about his tone had Sunstreaker focusing on him and frowning a little harder.

The Prime hesitated for a moment before he apparently chose to just bite the bullet and get on with it. “First Aid found many old injuries on your frame.”

_And when you read between the lines?_

Sunstreaker covered his face with his servos and fought the impulse to _scream_ into them. The urge to _not_ keep it together was real.

“I’ve sparred with the lot of them,” he said, _firmly,_ once he dropped his servos again to give his continued glare an unhindered path. _“That racks up some injuries.”_

“And none of them are from Megatron?” Prowl again, ever the skeptic.

Sunstreaker growled. “I’ve sparred with him too, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It wasn’t what he was asking and they all knew it. Things lapsed into silence for a moment, apparently none of them really comfortable with the topic. Well, Sunstreaker wasn’t going to try to make it any easier for them. 

_Fuck_ them all.

Prowl’s wings flicked, but he was eventually the one to continue. “That he abuses you is not a mere supposition.” The SIC was too good to let his voice lose its calm, but his doorwings still gave him off with the way they shivered. He did _not_ want to be talking about this.

Looked like Sunstreaker was the only one who didn’t really _care._ “He took off your valve cover,” Prowl managed to force out anyway. And there it was. Their basis for assuming Megatron got a bit _rough_ with him, which wasn’t a lie to begin with.

They just didn’t _get it._ “It’s called _foreplay,”_ Sunstreaker _kindly_ informed them, leaning back to cross his arms again. “You should try it sometime.”

“Sunstreaker,” Optimus said, and the twin reluctantly looked up at him. What _now?_

Nothing good, that’s what. “You don’t have to live under Megatron’s abuse. You don’t need to put up with it. _You have other options.”_

It sounded like he so very genuinely _meant_ that.

“Like what?” Sunstreaker snapped. “Crawl back to the Autobots and beg for forgiveness? I wouldn’t fragging do that even _if_ he was _‘abusing’_ me— _which he isn’t.”_

“Kid, I know you’ve got your pride, but there ain’t anything shameful in admittin’ you’re sometimes in over yer head,” Ironhide said where he’d been quiet this whole duration. 

That anger? It was quickly rising the same way it did when Megatron disregarded what he said because _his his his sparkling, yada yada yada,_ and they went in circles around that topic until Sunstreaker caved—but this was _worse._ This wasn’t Megatron acknowledging that he wanted something different, and then overruling that want anyway.

This was the Autobots deciding _he didn’t know what the frag he was talking about, that he was lying, that he didn’t know what he wanted–_ “Are any of you actually _listening_ to me?” Sunstreaker demanded, passing his glare between all four of them, “Because it’s getting really fucking tiresome to get treated like my words don’t mean _shit.”_

“The matter of your protocols remains,” Prowl said. He said something more too, but Sunstreaker couldn’t _hear it_ over the noise that fragging _roared_ up in his audials at just that bit. He stumbled back a step, pressed a servo to his helm—blasted hot air from his vents as the shadow folk crept further into his field of vision. And _touched_ him. He could’ve sworn they were there–

But then, as he cycled several ventilations and fought to maintain his control of himself, they receded, disappearing back into the ether they came from. He would’ve said they were gone, but no, they never really were.

Just less numerous, usually.

He ignored the traces of phantom pings on his sensors and lifted his gaze back up to see all four Autobots staring at him. Sunstreaker scowled.

“Your glitch’s worsened too, about since you started your tryst with ol’ Megs,” Jazz pointed out. “That don’t mean anything?”

It meant he had started to _reconsider_ his stance regarding his glitch. Did he want to say that much, though? Talk about how drastically Megatron’s opinion of it differed from the Autobot sentiments? “Yeah, well, trying to keep that whole thing from becoming public knowledge was a bit _stressful.”_

With how little anyone was listening to him, he didn’t particularly feel like having his explanation regarding his glitch get ignored like everything else he said was getting ignored. Plus he’d probably just get preached at about the _dangers_ of his glitch and how _irresponsible_ it would be to let it out of control and whatever the frag else the Autobots were always so fragging eager to fill his audials with. 

It was as if the Autobots wanted him to be ashamed of himself—of what he was.

He was a little slagging _tired_ of that by now.

“What prompted you to fight Megatron during that one of your encounters?” Optimus asked. Right, how could he _forget._ The one encounter and the one fight the Autobots could genuinely claim to know of. Did they also know that was the time when he’d told Megatron about the sparkling and promptly gotten into an argument with him?

Getting into arguments with the mech was really the norm. Glitching while at it? Not that far out either. “He was annoying,” Sunstreaker gave his honest to Primus answer. And obviously, Megatron had needed to pay for that, and what better way than to go berserk and bring some unholy smiting into the game through his glitch? Sounded like a good way to him.

“You decided to fight _Megatron,_ because he was _annoyin’?”_ Ironhide asked incredulously. 

Sunstreaker gave him a patronizing look. “Now, ‘Hide, you know me better than that. What other fragging reason have I _ever_ needed to fight someone?”

“You had to know you couldn’ win,” Jazz said, like what wasn’t obvious to the whole world.

“Hasn’t really stopped me before, either.” Any _more_ useless statements?

“You didn’t fight him because he was trying to interface with you?” Optimus asked. A _slightly_ less dumb thing to say, considering it was Megatron.

But, “No, I didn’t fight him because he was trying to ‘face me,” Sunstreaker answered in the most mocking tone he could manage. Never let it be forgotten he was here not out of his own free will, but because some ass eaters had decided to snatch him right up and lock him up for good measure. If there weren’t bars between him and them, between him and _freedom,_ he would’ve been gone a long time ago. 

They really couldn’t expect his cooperation, considering the circumstances.

“Did he ignite you on purpose?” Prowl took the turn to ask. The tactician had probably been hard at work considering all of the possible ways things had gone and _would go._ How lovely it had to be to get some answers to things the Autobots really had had no way of knowing.

Why was he over here telling them this slag though? It was none of their fragging business.

“No. He was as surprised as I was,” Sunstreaker responded anyway. No doubt it wouldn’t make them _vilify_ Megatron any less, but at least they’d know the slagging truth.

If they believed it, anyway. There were good chances they’d just think he _didn’t know_ as well as he thought he did.

But they hadn’t been there to see Megatron’s surprise upon first hearing about it, and everything that had come after that really didn’t sit in line with the theory the tyrant had planned it all along. 

“And you didn’t get ignited on purpose?” Prowl asked next. Sunstreaker rolled his optics as fucking _hard_ as he could manage. 

“No. What would I have even gained by doing that? My life’s a _mess_ because of this whole goddamn accident.” He couldn’t say it hadn’t also improved, but frag, was he somehow supposed to foresee that much? He wasn’t a clairvoyant. 

“Sunstreaker, I want you to understand you can still come back.” Optimus just loved to keep repeating that, without ever listening or accepting all of the reasons why that wasn’t _true._

“No, I can’t. And more importantly, I don’t _want_ to,” Sunstreaker said with as much emphasis as he could manage. “So if we’re done here, I’d really _love_ to get back home already.”

Did he consider it home? He wasn’t sure yet, but the word sure had the intended effect of pulling a couple of surprised revs from his captors’ engines. Maybe it would drive the point home.

More likely they’d still go back to the carrier coding to gleefully point _all_ the fingers at it and announce it meant Sunstreaker had no agency separate from the infernal protocols. 

“I can’t let you return,” Optimus said, and oh, he probably really thought he was doing a good thing through whatever wrong and twisted logic he was employing. “I cannot subject either you or the innocent life you’re carrying to Megatron’s evil.”

_What the fuck..?_

“You fragging think,” Sunstreaker started, leaning back to the bars and keeping Optimus’ stare, “that he’d let _anything_ keep him from it?”

The Prime’s optics hardened with resolve. “I’m willing to press the issue.”

“So’s he,” Sunstreaker pointed out, “and he’s not going to just _stop_ after it separates, either. You ought to know him. He’ll hunt the damn thing to the edges of the world if that’s what it takes. You can’t _keep_ him from it.”

“And you’re fine with all of this?” Prowl asked while Optimus mulled over what he’d said. 

Sunstreaker shifted his gaze to the tactician and shrugged. “It was the deal we came to.”

“Deal? Did you actually have a say at any point?” Of course Jazz would quickly pick on little details like that. Sunstreaker glared at him, but unless he felt like lying, there wasn’t much he could say. He was fine with the conclusion they’d come to with Megatron, but no, he hadn’t really had any other options than to agree to what the warlord wanted.

But if _he_ didn’t think it was an issue, it wasn’t really an issue, _was it?_

“The young one should have a right to its own freedom,” Optimus said now, apparently having sorted out his thoughts. “I have to protect that right.”

_Ugh._

“What about _my_ freedom while we’re at it?” Sunstreaker snarled, hitting the bars with one hand and ignoring the resulting burn. His plating was heat resistant anyway. It wouldn’t damage him severely. _“That_ means nothing?”

“This is for your own good,” Optimus repeated, more firmly this time. “For as long as the carrier coding is active–”

“You’re letting your hatred of Megatron blind you!” Sunstreaker interrupted, hitting the bars caging him with _both_ hands this time. “You can’t _fathom_ that someone could be _okay_ with him, understand him, be understood by him—all _you_ can see is a mech you’ve made the nemesis of your fragging world!”

All was quiet for a moment after his little outburst, four sets of optics staring at him with varying expressions. Surprise, confusion, _concern…_ “What do _you_ see in him, kid?” Ironhide asked, sounding a little wary—like he expected he wouldn’t like the answer very much.

“The sire of my sparkling,” Sunstreaker bit out, “who has the _right_ to it.” As Megatron _loved_ to remind him. Didn’t change it was true, though.

“Considering Megatron’s track record, it would be little short of _unethical_ to let him have his way with the sparkling,” Prowl said, frowning now. Right after Sunstreaker had _just_ informed them of the obvious fact that Megatron would have it _no other way._

The twin snarled at the lot of them. “Then what do _you_ suggest?”


	17. Liar on the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _One more word before I break  
>  Look before you fall from grace  
> Read my lips and shut your face  
> Maybe you're the one to blame  
> Same old story every day  
> Trip and fall and run away  
> The truth is gonna find you  
> Life is gonna fuck you_
> 
> — Krewella – Say Goodbye

How did Megatron react to the news that he and Drag Strip commed to the Victory ahead of their arrival?

Predictably, _not well._ Unless you considered red hot fury a good reaction.

In the circumstances, Sideswipe sort of did. The angrier Megatron was, the more the Autobots would _hurt._

They damn well deserved to get hurt after this.

The Autobots didn’t do anything to Wildrider, who crawled back to the Victory some time later. The two Stunticons… Were in trouble. Mildly put. Not only was Megatron angry at them, he was angry at Motormaster too for having such useless underlings, and that made Motormaster angry with them too, and boy but Sideswipe was surprised the two didn’t get the living daylights beat out of them first thing.

But Megatron held off his punishment for now, and ordered Motormaster to do the same. All Drag Strip and Wildrider got— _for now_ —were a few dents. 

No doubt there was something intensely unpleasant waiting for them in the not too distant future, though. Neither looked particularly happy about it.

Honestly, Sideswipe didn’t blame them any more than he blamed himself and Sunstreaker. They’d all let their guard down. If they hadn’t, there was no way _none_ of them would have noticed Mirage sneaking up on them—or the fact that they had likely gotten tailed for a good while even before that. He wasn’t sure how exactly the Autobots had managed to pounce them like that, but considering they hadn’t much tried to hide themselves or their movements… 

Soundwave pointed out Teletraan and some general route prediction as the likely culprits for the whole incident. Provided the Autobots had had more than one agent on the field, they could have covered several potential roads they could have taken, and then it was just chance which of them had actually scored them. Happened to be Mirage.

Sideswipe didn’t disagree with that theory too much. At the end of the day, though, the _why_ was a little irrelevant compared to the fact _it had happened_ and now _needed to be fixed._ They could worry about not repeating the _why_ later, once both Sunstreaker and the newspark were safely back on the Victory. 

To that end, the more tactically minded had gathered in the Victory’s command center, namely Megatron, Starscream, Soundwave, and Onslaught, who were busy arguing about their options. There was a lot of raised voices anda angry gestures from Megatron and Starscream. Soundwave was as passive as ever, and Onslaught remained fairly put together too. Thundercracker interjected with his opinions every now and then too, standing next to his trine leader.

About what Sideswipe had already come to expect, then.

Soundwave had already dispatched Ravage, Lazerbeak and Buzzsaw to have eyes on the Ark, as much as they expected the Autobots were well prepared for retaliation and on high alert. It’d be a miracle if any of the symbiotes actually got in, but at least they could observe the ongoings from the outside.

Skywarp was next to useless as far as planning anything went, but he was sitting next to Sideswipe against the furthest wall of the command center where Sideswipe had sequestered himself to provide updates on what the Autobots were doing to Sunstreaker. There hadn’t been anything for him to tell at first because Sunstreaker wasn’t even conscious in the beginning, and Megatron had merely given him the order to alert them as soon as something changed.

Then Sunstreaker onlined and Sideswipe jerked from his stupor as well, his alarmed sound drawing everyone’s attention. 

Sunstreaker was angry and unhappy even from the beginning, but after he got to _converse_ with the top three of the Autobot army, he went pretty quickly from just _angry_ to _borderline enraged._ Sideswipe was halfway surprised his brother managed to avoid glitching—it was definitely a close call a few times—because Sideswipe wasn’t nearly as much the type to get angry at things, but frag, the way the Autobots kept dismissing Sunstreaker was sure getting on his nerves something fierce.

Megatron wasn’t doing any better. Sideswipe could hardly pass on the conversation word to word, their spark just didn’t work like that, but it was easy enough to catch the _gist:_ Sunstreaker saying what _he_ wanted and what _he_ thought, and the Autobots repeatedly circling back to how that couldn’t _possibly_ be the truth—and what really got on Megatron’s nerves, the talk of keeping the sparkling from him.

It didn’t matter what Sunstreaker said, that much became obvious in the first few minutes. The Autobots had already made up their minds. 

All optics were on him as he recounted the by and large of the conversation going on at the Ark. And maybe, just _maybe_ Sideswipe still thought some good of his old side, that they wouldn’t do anything really bad to either Sunstreaker or the sparkling. They were supposed to be the _good guys,_ right? At least that was how they wanted to come across as. Protectors of the universe, opposers of the evil Megatron, bastions of freedom. 

Fuck, he was so wrong about them.

Almost everyone looked at him as if he’d partway lost his mind when he started _laughing_ all of a sudden in the middle of telling them about the Autobots’ considerations of the _ethics_ of letting Megatron have _his_ goddamn sparkling. Skywarp drew back to stare at him and everyone waited impatiently for the _punchline._

It wasn’t a very good one.

“They’re talking about snuffing the sparkling.”

Everything was still and quiet for a few seconds before Megatron _roared_ and turned to punch the nearest wall with full force. The bulkhead beyond dented under his strength. 

Thundercracker, Onslaught, even Starscream looked surprised, but Skywarp was the first to speak up. “What?! _Why?_ Why would they do that?”

Sideswipe shook his helm, his mirthless laughter dying down. He looked back at Megatron who was already staring intently at him, waiting as much as anyone else for the answer to that question.

_Why?_

“They think you raped him,” Sideswipe said, his voice calm and at complete odds with the turmoil in his head, spark, and field. Much of it was from Sunstreaker, who was _still_ fighting against snapping entirely, just because he wanted to hear what further manner of madness the Autobots were spewing.

But he was so ready to glitch if it meant protecting both of the sparks in his frame. It wasn’t just his _frame_ protective of the sparkling. Their spark reacted just as strongly, completely rejecting the idea of allowing anything to happen to the little one. “Think you raped, got him sparked with that, forced him to leave the Autobots just to continue abusing him—that… Slag, what do they think? That you force him into fucking on the regular and beat him for funsies or something?”

 _Fraggit…_ Sideswipe shook his helm before dropping it into his servos, digging his digits into his helmet—trying and yet unable to deny the insanity that had befallen the Autobots.

If they hadn’t always been like this and he just hadn’t _seen_ it. “They think the only reason he’s staying with you is the carrier coding. They want to bring it offline to _free_ him.” And apparently killing the sparkling was the only way to do that.

Although, “Besides, then you couldn’t have the sparkling. Win-win, huh? Better _dead_ than in your hands.” Sideswipe huffed. So much for protecting innocent life. This wasn’t about protecting _anyone_ from _anything,_ it was just about denying Megatron for the sake of denying him, because he was the worst enemy of the fragging _reality_ or something. 

Sideswipe shook his helm harder, dug his digits in some more as much as that didn’t leave anything other than minor scuffs—tried and failed to stifle his sob. _“They hate you so much.”_ Would they really take life that had done nothing to deserve it just because it would undermine Megatron?

Pits, he was starting to think _of course they would._ This was the Autobots. Their whole reason for existing was to oppose Megatron in any and all ways, wasn’t it?

Megatron, whose field filled the room to the brim with his fury. Sideswipe wasn’t sure how much of it was personal offense and how much came from the Autobots _daring_ to threaten something Megatron wanted and already considered _his._

Everyone was tense, waiting for the tyrant to violently erupt at someone in particular and most likely beating the shit out of them—although it turned out the two he wanted to maim in that moment weren’t present. “Soundwave!” Megatron growled, turning to his third. “Let Vortex know he will have two _visitors_ soon. Drag Strip and Wildrider will not come out of the brig for _anything_ without my _explicit_ authorization.”

“They’re lucky they’re parts of Menasor,” Onslaught commented, quickly making the assumption that as much as the two might _wish_ they were dead, Megatron likely wouldn’t get rid of them entirely so as to not cripple an entire Combiner team.

Megatron confirmed that with a simple, guttural, “They are.”

And Sideswipe should probably count himself lucky Megatron wasn’t laying blame at his pedes. Too much, anyway. Or maybe that was just because he was useful _for the moment._ Who knew what would await him in his future.

Something else to be anxious about, but first he was going to worry about Sunstreaker and the life his twin was nurturing, and now, was desperate to protect.

“You shouldn’t get so attached to one worthless Autobot,” Starscream scoffed, and Sideswipe grimaced in time with Skywarp and Thundercracker. Megatron’s attention turned to his second at once, his optics sparking with violence that was threatening to unleash itself on the Seeker.

To his credit, Starscream looked vaguely like he wanted to take the words back. He tried to dodge, but Megatron’s servo still wrapped around his throat and slammed him against the already dented wall.

“That _former_ Autobot is carrying _my_ sparkling,” the tyrant snarled, getting right into Starscream’s face until the flier’s wings were making disquieted little jerks against the wall he was pressed against. The wings of his trinemates had hiked up in alarm, but both knew better than to intervene. “I will _not_ let the _Prime_ have his way with it,” Megatron continued, slamming the Seeker against the wall _again_ before taking a step back and releasing him. 

Starscream got off easy, Sideswipe was pretty sure. The second was rubbing his throat and glaring at Megatron’s back when the warlord turned away, but Megatron seemed more interested in being productive with getting his sparkling back than he was in wasting time slagging the flier. “Have your symbiotes made any progress?” Megatron snapped at Soundwave.

“Ark: increased guard and patrols around the entrance. Autobots: stay close to the ship,” Soundwave reported. “Ravage: has found no entry.”

Sideswipe became the target of Megatron’s focus next. “Sunstreaker is still in the brig?”

“Yeah,” he responded. “Deep in the mountain, part buried. He can get out of the cell and the brig–”

“Then what does he even need _rescue_ for?” Starscream interrupted. Sideswipe glared at him in time with Megatron, but continued before Megatron had the time to do whatever to his second.

 _“But_ he can’t make it through the entire Ark if everyone’s interested in stopping him,“ Sideswipe said firmly. Sunstreaker was good, but he couldn’t fight the entire elite of the Autobot army. Jazz alone could bring him right down, if he happened in his way. 

“If he can make it towards the exit even partway…” Onslaught rumbled. “Get someone in to help him the rest of the way. Draw the Autobot forces elsewhere for less resistance on their way.”

“Can’t ‘Warp just teleport in and out?” Sideswipe asked. That seemed like the most obvious solution to him.

Skywarp shook his helm, though. “I can’t warp somewhere I haven’t been to before, unless it’s mid-air. I might embed myself into a wall or something.”

That… Made sense. Sideswipe still frowned in disappointment.

Onslaught wasn’t done, though. “But you _can_ warp back out if you get in on foot,” he pointed out. Skywarp nodded after a moment’s hesitation, and Sideswipe could tell the Seeker next to him wasn’t following even though everyone else seemed to catch on quickly. 

“Small force in,” Soundwave intoned. “Skywarp: can teleport them all out once Sunstreaker is reached.”

“I can’t warp far if I need to teleport multiple bodies,” Skywarp said hesitantly, _still_ not catching on by the looks of it. Sideswipe stifled his laughter. 

“Outside of the Ark is enough, even if it’s just barely,” Onslaught pointed out.

Megatron growled a pretty bloodthirsty sound where he had let his commanders do most of the talking for the time being.

Starscream was straight up sulking and apparently refusing to even contribute anymore.

“The rest of the Decepticons can function as a… _Distraction,”_ the warlord said, although it sounded a hell of a lot like he meant to say something else there first.

“Bring out a lot of force and they won’t have a choice but to respond or have their base invaded,” Onslaught agreed. “That’ll draw a lot of attention from Sunstreaker and the team that needs to slip inside.”

“Suggestion,” Soundwave spoke up again, “Team composition: Skywarp, Sideswipe, Vortex, Barricade. Sideswipe: knows the layout of the Ark.”

“Four too many for you to warp?” was the question directed at Skywarp.

“But that’s only three others…” the Seeker pointed out, trailing off like he was a little unsure about his math skills.

“You’ll need to add Sunny to it,” Sideswipe pointed out helpfully, watching as the lightbulb lit up in Skywarp’s mostly empty helm. 

“Oh! No, yeah, I can teleport four others. A short distance.”

So… That seemed to be the plan.

Although, “Are you ready to fight your former comrades?” Megatron asked, and Sideswipe looked back at him to find the warlord’s red optics _intent_ on him. 

Before, they had hesitated and opted to not fight for the Decepticons.

He was starting to question the _why_ behind that a hell of a lot, now. 

Sideswipe snarled himself. “If they’re willing to do this to Sunstreaker, and the sparkling? _Pit_ yeah.”

Skywarp whooped and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him to his side. Sideswipe beeped, but Skywarp didn’t let that bother him. “Finally!” the Seeker grinned instead. “I thought you’d be holding back forever!”

Sideswipe snickered after a small delay. “Yeah, well, needs must. Plus they fragging well _deserve_ everything I can dish out, at this point.”

No one disagreed with him. “Then it’s settled,” Megatron said. “Leave only a skeleton guard on the Victory,” he instructed Soundwave. “Everyone else will join in on the attack on the Autobots. They will _pay.”_

That was probably what he’d meant to say earlier too. It wasn’t so much about the distraction for him, as it was just about _punishing_ the Autobots.

Sideswipe was just fine with that. Did he have friends among the Autobots? Sure. Or, he had had. He wasn’t so sure anymore. Not because he thought all of them had anything to do with this, but… It was becoming more and more official that they were on the opposing sides now, and just that fact was enough to drive a big ass wedge between them. 

They would fight for the Prime just because the Prime told them to—and Sideswipe would fight anything the Prime tossed at him, past friends included, because this had gotten mighty personal all of a sudden.

If they dared to so much as _scratch_ Sunstreaker…

“...What if we don’t make it in time?” Sideswipe had to ask, looking at the tyrant.

Megatron growled back at him. _“We will.”_


	18. Sink the Blade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I miss the bad things  
>  The way you hate me  
> I miss the screaming  
> The way that you blame me_
> 
> _I miss the rough sex  
>  Leaves me a mess  
> I miss the feeling of pains in my chest  
> Miss the phone calls  
> When it's your fault  
> I miss the late nights  
> Don't miss you at all_
> 
> — Halestorm – I Miss the Misery

_Fuck._

That summarized the whole situation pretty well, didn’t it? Sunstreaker thought it did.

He had never thought too highly about the Autobots. He had belonged to the faction, sure, but he was an arrogant bastard, and admittedly a pretty cold-hearted one at that. He’d always looked _down_ on them to some extent, even when they were his comrades. He’d thought them weak and soft-sparked, not capable of doing what _needed_ to be done. 

This? This didn’t need to be done, but at least they showed _coldness_ perfectly comparable to his own. Sunstreaker killed without remorse and the Autobots had always called him _bad_ for that. Maybe they’d feel remorse for this and thought that excused them as the _morally superior_ beings.

Pits, it didn’t.

_There was a moment of silence after his question—his challenge. It was Jazz who spoke up, showing no emotion when he simply said, “We could snuff the sparkling.”_

Snuff the sparkling, when that was the very first option Sunstreaker had thought of when he’d first found out about it.

An option he’d fragging _discarded._ He hadn’t changed his mind about it either, or he could have done it himself at any point in time. It wasn’t like him to give a shit about the fact the sparkling was fully conscious by now. It was a life as worthless as all others.

But it was a life _he_ had something to do with. If it was just because of the infernal protocols the Autobots were so obsessed with… He doubted it. That was just his frame. It wouldn’t affect his spark.

His spark _cared_ about the fate of the sparkling too, though. Maybe not about the sparkling as an _individual,_ but at least as the _concept_ of something _he_ had created (with a bit of help), that belonged to him, was _part him_ —no matter how much Megatron laid claim on it too.

But the crux of the problem seemed to be just that: Megatron laid claim on it. _Rightfully,_ but the Autobots only cared about the fact it was _Megatron_ of all mecha. Anyone else and he was pretty sure they’d be just fine with the sparkling, even if he’d fraternized with the enemy to bring it to life. Some _other_ enemy. 

It didn’t matter that he was, personally, rather happy with the sire, no matter how accidental the whole thing had been. Megatron was a powerful individual. Maybe not the… _Kindest,_ or however you wanted to put it, but those were the types of details Sunstreaker wasn’t inclined to give a damn about. Strength of spark, mind, personality—that was what mattered.

And Megatron had all of that in spades. 

_“What?!” He was the only one that looked shocked by the suggestion. Optimus had a sorrowful look in his optics; Prowl’s expression didn’t change. His wings didn’t so much as_ twitch. _“You can’t_ do _that!”_

 _Was he a little hysterical? He felt a little hysterical when he hit the bars again,_ harder _this time, before taking one step away from them._

_It wouldn’t do him any good if they really wanted to do something to him, to it. He was perfectly stuck in the small cell. Putting all the distance of one step between them was no protection._

_“It is a last resort but it’s clear you are not listening–” Optimus started._

_There was no fucking way Sunstreaker was going to let him finish._ “I’m _not listening?_ You’re _not listening! It’s_ mine _and you’re not slagging touching it!”_

They’d talked about it. They had to have talked about it even before they’d come see him—maybe even before they’d even captured him. He could imagine it, all of the command gathering to _discuss_ what to do about the sparkling and about Sunstreaker and the whole damn mess he’d gotten himself into, and then concluding he _had_ to have no will separate from that forced on him by his coding, because how could he _possibly_ want to stay with Megatron otherwise?

Anything he said, anything he did, they only twisted into more _proof_ of that. 

Did Ratchet know about this?

 _“If you’re so worried about the goddamn protocols, why not just turn them off?” he growled at them. It was too easy to hide all other emotion beneath just_ anger. _Oh, he was angry._

_Fear wasn’t even a thing he rightly processed, but his spark was disquieted in a way it usually wasn’t. The feeling of inevitability wasn’t exactly comfortable, either._

_The sparklet responded, naturally. Sunstreaker rubbed at his chestplates even as he stared at the Autobots._

_“First Aid examined them–” Prowl said, looking down at the motion of his servo. Sunstreaker glared at him, but let his arm drop, “–And how did he put it? That your coding is ‘a house of cards ready to come down at any moment’? He feared that forcibly turning them off would render you nonfunctional.”_

_So fucking_ concerned _about him, were they? Sunstreaker gestured violently with one hand. “Why not just straight up_ reprogram _me if you really want my head to_ clear?” _he hissed._

_“That is also an option.”_

He hadn’t actually expected them to go there. It had come up before—wiping him clean, installing new hardware, installing fresh new code, starting over from scratch. No memories, nothing left about the past him aside from his spark... _Just_ to fix his glitch and undo everything his life had done to him. 

Maybe _one day_ he’d want to go through with it just to give his spark another shot at life without everything being so goddamn _traumatic_ it messed him up for good, but that day wasn’t here yet. He wasn’t about to _agree_ to go through with it. Especially not if he’d have an inexplicable sparkling on the other side that he wouldn’t even remember igniting.

Provided they didn’t just snuff it even in that event. Then he wouldn’t ever know about it.

But just to turn off the protocols they seemed ready to consider even _that._ Snuff it, reprogram him, whatever else… Free him from Megatron’s influence once and for all, no matter the cost.

He cradled his helm in his servos as he sat on the small slab of a berth in the cell. The sparkling hadn’t calmed down one bit since all of this had begun, and he couldn’t blame it. He’d already nearly rubbed the paint straight off his chest before the uselessness of the gesture had fully sunk in. Only his spark itself could do anything to ease the sparklet’s emotions, and with how much his spark wasn’t calm and collected or anywhere near that, there was really slagall he could do to convince the sparkling that everything was alright and that everything was going to be fine.

Things weren’t _alright_ and he couldn’t even promise they would be _fine._ The Autobots had left him alone for now aside from the one mech left to guard him, but who knew when and how they’d decide to act _for his own good._ He knew very well Megatron was on a warpath. He had known that from the beginning, but Sideswipe was there to see it firsthand.

The Autobots had to know as much too, though. They had to know their window of opportunity to “fix” things was closing quickly, that Megatron would waste no time in getting his sparkling back.

He didn’t particularly enjoy being a damsel in distress, but things didn’t always go how you wanted them to and he wasn’t going to get out without some help. Oh, out of the brig, sure, but he highly doubted the Autobots would just let him _walk out._

He wasn’t the only one feeling the sense of urgency, though. The Decepticons knew just as well as he did what the Autobots were ready to do, all thanks to Sideswipe.

And thanks to Sideswipe he knew they were hurrying. _Stay alive. Both of you._

Probably an easy request to make when it came to _his_ life. The Autobots didn’t seem eager to kill him. 

_It,_ though? That was going to be harder if the Decepticons didn’t make it in time. 

It was laughable how upside down things had turned. First he was an Autobot fighting the Decepticons for the sake of fighting them, never showing any true inclination to switch sides. 

Then he’d made some questionable choices—he wouldn’t call them _bad_ choices—and suddenly it was the _Decepticons_ that were interested in his well being. Only on Megatron’s order because he was carrying the tyrant’s sparkling, but still. 

And there was Megatron, of course. There was their sex, their shared violence, the things they did to each other that the Autobots were so concerned about and didn’t care to _understand_ or _accept…_ There was their accord, forever without a shred of peace, but an agreement all the same.

There was the high and the thrill, the drug Megatron was that he couldn’t get enough of. He was as good as an addict, at this point.

There was the all-encompassing rightness of being around mecha that thought along the same tracks as he did, too.

Sunstreaker chuckled out loud, as _unfunny_ as the situation was. But it was absurd. It was fucking absurd he wanted to the side of his former _enemy_ just to escape his former _friends._

He could hear his guard’s pedesteps before Tracks appeared on the other side of the cell’s bars. “What’s so funny?”

“Just thinking,” Sunstreaker said with all the calmness he didn’t feel, straightening on his seat of choice. “About friends and enemies and how those tables have turned _a little bit.”_

Tracks was quiet for a moment before he growled. “They should just execute you for defecting.”

Sunstreaker tilted his helm in his direction _demurely._ “I’m not a Decepticon yet, you know. The most I’ve done is _abandon my post.”_

“‘Yet’,” Tracks repeated flatly.

“Yeah, well, this whole incident is making me rethink some things.”

“Uh-huh. As if it’s not enough you berthed _Megatron._ I think that alone would warrant a proper _punishment.”_

“Maybe. Doesn’t mean I plan to hang around for it.” How close to running out of time was he? When would the command be back with their decision?

Not soon enough, he hoped.

Sunstreaker rose to his pedes smoothly, stepping up to the bars. Tracks twitched like he was tempted to take a step back despite the barrier between them. _Smart mech,_ after all the times Sunstreaker had kicked his aft. “So excuse me, but I’m _leaving_ right about now.”

“What are you talking about?” Tracks asked suspiciously a second before the alarms blared to life.

Sunstreaker _smiled._ “I think _my side_ just arrived.” And he better book it before someone got the idea of doing what they thought needed to be done before he could get the hell away from here.

The bars were high on energy, hot, _searing,_ damaging. Despite that, Sunstreaker slipped his servos between two of them and _pulled_ to both sides. He ignored the burn in his palms and digits, digging deeper and deeper into his armor… Stared straight into Tracks’ alarmed optics.

“The pit are you doing..?” his fellow warrior asked in alarm, cut off when the bars blinked out of existence under the duress Sunstreaker placed on them.

“Design flaw,” he commented mildly as he stepped through, the energy bars recovering and closing back up right on his heels. “If you can handle a little _pain…_ Well.” The results spoke for themselves, didn’t they? His palms were slag now despite the strength and resistance of his armor, but he could handle that.

Tracks went for his blaster, an option Sunstreaker didn’t have—an option he didn’t _need._ They were already in close quarters. Oh, gunshots would have hurt like a motherfucker at point blank like this, but he was a melee fighter.

All he needed to do was force Tracks into hand to hand to have very good chances against him. Sunstreaker proceeded to do that with long familiarity at disarming others for his own benefit, grappled the Autobot—redlined his engines before Tracks could do the same, overpowered him into stumbling.

There were several ways he could have gone about this, but what Sunstreaker _chose_ was to grab his current opponent by the _face,_ and–

Slam his helm against the wall with all the considerable force he could muster.

Then repeat that.

And repeat that.

_Repeat._

Tracks made a pained, distressed sound from his vocalizer as his helmet first caved in, then caved in some more, and some _more_ until it was pressing against his protoform.

Again, until his protoform was crushed similarly.

 _Again,_ until the blue mech’s helmet began to crumble.

 _Again,_ until it fell apart entirely.

Tracks was limp in his hold by the time Sunstreaker saw fit to drop him, the dent on the wall rather _massive_ as well. He looked down at the mech falling at his pedes like a pathetic pile of junk, barely an undamaged component left of his helm—and there, among the wreckage, he could see Tracks’ processors, uncovered by the undoing of the helmet and protoform protecting it.

Intrigued, Sunstreaker reached down, picked it up, _yanked it out…_ Held it in his servo for a moment, _considered_ it... 

Before closing his fist around it, grinding a mech’s physical consciousness into nothing but pieces of _scrap._

“Fix _that,”_ he growled to himself. It wasn’t a kill, Tracks’ spark was still just fine—but the Autobots were sure to _not_ have the resources to recreate an entire brain module. 

What did the humans call that state? A _vegetable?_ Seemed appropriately _derogatory._

It was close to a kill, though. It provided much of the same _satisfaction,_ and the sparkling was vibrating in his chassis for reasons that had nothing to do with the danger they’d been in—and still possibly were, if the wrong mech intercepted him.

Bloodthirsty little thing, wasn’t it? Violence, death… It reveled in the emotion brought on by that.

Time to go, though. The brig door was locked, but that was nothing a bit more _force_ wasn’t going to fix. The Ark was never meant to hold prisoners, at least not dangerous ones, the type that _would_ get out when they _wanted_ to get out. And he and Sideswipe, they had busted out of cells and brigs before. Not from this particular one, but others, and not _prettily,_ but _effectively._ It wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar thing.

Sunstreaker jammed his digits into the center seam of the door, caving it inside until he could grab both halves of it and tore them to the sides. The halves broke apart, reluctantly, slowly, and he could feel the growing urgency, concern that someone was already on their way with bad intent.

Someone other than Sideswipe and his company. They had _good_ intent.

He only opened the door enough that he could _barely_ slip through. The halls of the Ark were familiar, and now, all but empty thanks to the _diversion_ the other Decepticons were putting up. Sunstreaker set on a run down the corridors, taking the shortest route towards Sideswipe and the mecha with him—a team just big enough to blast their way through anyone who tried to stop them.

They hadn’t fought _with_ the Decepticons before, and on principle they were not good team players… But Sideswipe and co were still doing just fine in forcing their way into the Ark, deeper and deeper into it.

Sunstreaker skidded another corner and nearly ran into someone _red._ It was the wrong red, though, and this red was alone. 

Ironhide blocked his path, looking rather surprised to see him. Had no one expected to see him running around? _Fools._

“Out of my way,” he growled at the old mech when Ironhide didn’t simply let him go past him, instead moving to block him again. 

“Sunstreaker–” Ironhide started, but for the love of Primus he was _done_ listening to anything the Autobots said _at_ him. His growl and rev were loud enough to put a stop to anything Ironhide could have wanted to say.

_“Out of my way.”_

“Kid–”

“Sunny!” This time it was a voice behind Ironhide that interrupted him. Sunstreaker looked past him and Ironhide glanced behind him to see Sideswipe—and Vortex, and Skywarp, and Barricade. A little worse for wear, the lot of them, but still perfectly fighting fit.

There was no way Ironhide could have held off against all of them, especially surrounded as he was now, but they didn’t even get that far before Vortex grabbed one of his rotors off his back and threw it like a goddamn _spear._ Ironhide didn’t have the time to dodge and the apparently weaponized part of the copter impaled him through his abdomen.

Far from fatal, but it was enough to make Ironhide stumble—giving Sunstreaker the opportunity he needed. While running by he grabbed the rotor too, yanking it from Ironhide’s frame to another grunt and a pleasant gush of blood from the weapons specialist. Figures Vortex might want that back.

“Thanks,” the interrogator said to him once Sunstreaker reached them and handed it to him. It sounded like he was grinning, mask or no mask.

“Don’t mention it,” Sunstreaker responded flatly before Skywarp asked if everyone was ready, _didn’t wait for an answer,_ and warped.

They reappeared a few feet above the ground right outside the Ark’s entrance, _far_ too close to being behind the Autobot lines for anyone’s comfort, but at least they were out. Of course, everyone but Skywarp was suffering rather severely from the damn mech’s teleportation. Skywarp took it upon himself to fire at any Autobots nearby as the lot of them stumbled towards the Decepticons.

Soundwave’s order rang in their comms. ::Barricade, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe: board Astrotrain.::

::Why am I not included?:: Vortex whined over the line. Sideswipe snickered.

::Vortex: capable of flight.::

::Right now I’m not!::

Sideswipe laughed out loud this time, and for all Vortex wore a visor on top of a mask, his field definitely passed on his _glare._

Sideswipe laughed harder even as they took the course towards Astrotrain who transformed into a shuttle closeby enough that it wasn’t too tall of an order to reach him, even on unsteady pedes and through the gunfire around them.

The Seekers took to the air on order from Starscream at that, abandoning their ground fights and momentarily leaving the Autobots looking a bit more victorious.

Up until the whole flock of them circled around and took to dropping bombs on the Ark’s _entire_ entrance. Sunstreaker stole one glance backwards to see the Autobots running around, alternately trying to dodge the explosions and get back into the Ark.

Quite a few of them didn’t quite make it. The amount of injuries from this was going to be _substantial._

Barricade ushered him forward and the three of them climbed the ramp into Astrotrain just as Megatron ordered the Decepticons to retreat, not because they’d lost the battle, but because they’d gotten what they came here for—the sparkling, and the pain of the Autobots. 


	19. Never Fallen From Quite This High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You have me tied up in my head  
>  And your name's carved deep into my chest  
> Yeah, I'm all in, I must confess  
> Yeah, I have you breathing down my neck  
> Yeah, down my neck_
> 
> _Like an animal  
>  I want you to myself, come on, take control  
> Yeah, can you hold me down, smooth criminal  
> Yeah, you're rushing through my veins  
> Got me going half insane_
> 
> — Jim Yosef & RIELL – Animal

Sideswipe was all over him every step of the way from escaping the Autobot grounds, to jumping out of Astrotrain, to taking the elevator down into the Victory. And once they were actually inside the ship, his brother caught him into a denting hug that Sunstreaker returned to the best of his ability.

There was nothing that needed saying, only Sideswipe’s anxiety over what had happened—his fear that something worse yet would happen before they reached Sunstreaker.

And his relief that none of the worst had come to pass. The Autobots had dawdled for too long, underestimated the speed Megatron’s reprisal would come with, and as much as they had prepared for it come eventually… They were still unprepared for its severity, if their scrambling at the Seekers’ explosives-dropping fly-by was anything to go by. Had any of them outright died? Sunstreaker wasn’t sure about more than Tracks being as good as dead. What about the Autobots that had tried to stop Sideswipe? They weren’t even worth a death sentence when more important was just getting into the Ark and to Sunstreaker before _anyone else_ did. 

He wasn’t sure how lucky they’d gotten. Probably very, that the worst he’d come across was Ironhide, who hadn’t even made a move to _neutralize_ him before it was already too late. It was arguable if the old mech could have even if he tried, with the strength of Sunstreaker’s determination to _not_ let anything happen to the little one.

In that moment, every Autobot was a threat he would have done his damnedest to get through, if Vortex hadn’t done the work for him.

 _Allies_ were rather handy things to have, but… Would this particular alliance survive the sparkling’s separation? Before, they’d been quite undecided. Staying with the Decepticons was a necessary evil on Megatron’s order that they were in no position to fight, with the Autobots an even worse choice—as had been _proven,_ now. Forget Optimus and all of his assurances that _they could go back._

That was never an option, even before they were given reasons this grave. 

But _with_ those newfound reasons… Any lingering positivity they may have felt towards their former faction was gone. It didn’t matter if the mecha they’d considered friends hadn’t had anything directly to do with all this. They still _belonged_ to the faction that had performed the act, and that was an offense severe enough. They fought for the mecha who would have done who knew what to him, to _it,_ just because of old resentments and aged rivalries—forcing him and his between sworn enemies simply because of who had _ignited_ him. All of this despite the fact the one thing in the center of all of this had no choice in its creators, that its creation was nothing but an occurrence of chance… That it was innocent in this feud.

For now.

What reasons did they have left to _not_ oppose _everyone_ on the side that was considering its total annihilation as an answer to what _they_ perceived as a problem? Anyone who would fight for that side was partly responsible. They wanted to uphold the mecha that had stood there and looked him in the goddamn optic while casually threatening him with things he was never going to agree to.

They wanted to uphold the beliefs that led to that, and still thought themselves the _good guys._

He didn’t kid himself. Were a Decepticon to suddenly spawn something with the Prime, there would never have been a question—that life and most likely its traitor of a creator would have faced certain demise. Megatron didn’t _play around._

But there it was, _everyone_ knew that much. The Decepticons didn’t pretend to be anything other than what they were—a violent, revolutionist movement that didn’t shy away from _by any means necessary._ Bloodshed, genocide, destruction of an entire _planet…_ Nothing was off the table if it forwarded their cause— _Megatron’s_ cause. They didn’t _hide_ behind lies and masks as the Autobots did.

The Autobots were nothing but two-faced slanderers that would happily point out everything the Decepticons did, while pretending _they_ didn’t do comparable things. Oh no, they were the virtuous protectors of life and freedom! Far be it from _them_ to do anything that could even be called questionable. 

They had most of the galaxy fooled. They had the Earth fooled.

 _Peace through tyranny._ That was the approach Megatron was taking. Subjugate everyone and there would be no one left to rise in opposition. 

What did the Prime preach? _Freedom_ was the right of all sentient beings? That there was no _freedom_ under a tyrant?

Well, there sure as pit wasn’t any _freedom_ under the Prime, either. You played their games and donned their masks, became what _they_ wanted you to be, or pity upon you for what they’d do to anyone that didn’t fit themselves into their mold. You were free only for as long as you _agreed, bowed your head, smiled even when you didn’t feel like it, listened and obeyed like a mindless drone._

Primus forbid you had opinions or beliefs that didn’t align with theirs.

Were the Decepticons any better?

At least they were more _honest._ If you stepped out of line, you were very publicly beaten back to your place, to function as a warning to everyone—instead of just silently disappearing or _mysteriously_ changing your mind. If you disagreed… Were there even any consequences, as long as you didn’t take it to the level of a rebellion?

Was it alright, allowed, to have differing opinions, as long as you did as Megatron willed anyway? Were you allowed to voice them, no matter how you’d likely get ignored by anyone who had the power to change things?

Could you be yourself as long as you obeyed, even if that self differed from the standard and expected?

He didn’t know. _He_ fit the standard and expected—violent, ruthless, harsh… Just the things Decepticons were known for being.

There were things he didn’t know about the faction, the way its internal politics and practical functions went. What were his choices at this point? Go his own way once his frame was rid of the sparkling…

Or find out more about the faction he was living among and decide if he’d like to _stay_ and fight for it?

There was a third option too, though. Fight for the sake of fighting, for the sake of killing the faction that had _slighted_ him, for the sake of a future where _that_ faction would no longer exist.

It was the last option that felt the most tempting. 

“Did they harm it?” a rough voice growled out behind them, the deck trembling under his steps. Sideswipe glanced up at Megatron’s approach, Sunstreaker turned his helm to do the same.

“No. And I’m fine too, _thanks for asking,”_ he answered, extracting himself from Sideswipe’s hold despite his brother’s hisses of protest.

He did manage to turn around to face the warlord before Sideswipe glued himself to his back like the best of barnacles, his brother’s arms tight around his middle.

Sunstreaker opted to ignore that. 

It _almost_ looked like Megatron suppressed a smile, and although his field was a thing of storm, his armor still practically vibrating from what could be nothing more than barely controlled _anger…_ He spoke without tearing anyone to bits. “No ‘thank you’?” was all he asked, cocking an optical ridge at him.

“What, for _rescuing_ me?” Sunstreaker huffed, crossing his arms. “You only did it for the sparkling, so _whatever.”_

“Some _carrier_ you are,” Megatron snarled at him a second before his arm flashed the distance between them. Sunstreaker had _just_ the time to feel his optics widen in alarm, for Sideswipe to follow his smarts (for once) and let go of him, before Megatron had caught him by the _throat_ and slammed him against the bulkhead.

Why, he was feeling quite a bit like Starscream, here. A shorter, wingless Starscream.

“Shouldn’t the sparkling’s wellbeing be a concern of yours?” Megatron asked from him, slowly lifting him along the wall. Sunstreaker’s servos wrapped around his arm, taking just enough weight off his neck to avoid his whole helm getting torn off. Wouldn’t want to end up like _Tracks._

“It was never in danger with a sire like you,” Sunstreaker grunted, kicking at the warlord, as useless as he knew that to be. The most he could do was dent, add a little mark of his own into the scorched armor and preexisting dents already decorating the warlord. Bet most of those were from _Optimus._

But damaging him wasn’t the _point._ Just resisting was.

It was the _principle._

“Really now?” the tyrant rumbled, his red optics searing into Sunstreaker’s—a gaze he met without waver. Megatron lifted him high enough that he was in the _perfect_ position to wrap his legs around the warlord’s middle. Sunstreaker wasn’t blind to the _setup_ this was, but played along anyway. His legs encircled Megatron’s waist, maybe a bit more tightly than was strictly necessary.

And did Megatron sound just a little bit pleased by his answer? Sunstreaker _grinned_ at him. “What, flattered?”

“Aren’t you merely stating the truth?” What a _mildly_ spoken question that was.

His grin only widened ahead of a careless shrug. “Doesn’t make it less _nice to hear,_ does it?”

That earned him a growl, his only warning before Megatron retracted his arm and crushed their lips together. Sunstreaker moaned at the demanding bite on his lower lip, but even hesitating only for a moment, he could feel Megatron’s engine rev _hard_ against his own frame, the tyrant’s patience already all but exhausted.

He couldn’t help grinning some more at that, even as he let his lips part. Megatron wasted no time before his glossa had already invaded his mouth. Sunstreaker arched against him, _bit down…_ Earned himself another growl, and claws that sank into the plating of his hip. 

His response was a full frame shudder and, when those claws _hooked_ rather painfully, he did release the warlord’s glossa too—only for Megatron to pull back.

But Sunstreaker was left to be disappointed only for a moment, because the tyrant ducked his helm to bite down on his _neck_ instead. 

Sunstreaker gasped, twice so when he could feel Megatron’s other servo flirting with his lower panel. “Don’t want to take this somewhere more private?” he asked, just for the sake of confirmation. Decepticons were still walking right past them on their way from the elevator, and, frankly, the crossing of corridors here seemed to lead to other more used parts of the ship as well.

That, or some of them were just making excuses to pass by again to steal more glances at them.

“Not particularly,” came Megatron’s growled response, his digits turning insistent against his cover, _scratching_ into the seams.

Impatient.

As were the sharp denta that sank into the cabling of his neck, leaving their marks behind. He could do naught but tilt his helm to the side, bite back his groan, and… Consider. Megatron’s claws pressed into the seams of the panel he’d removed more times than Sunstreaker cared to count, his _stubbornness_ always leading to its loss.

He did so love being stubborn.

But as Megatron’s denta sank deeper into his neck and those claws prepared to do what they always did… It was a _whim,_ he’d say later, that had him retracting the cover before the warlord could completely relieve him of it.

Megatron chuckled against his neck. _“Now_ you do this, love?”

Sunstreaker growled, the sound hitching when the tyrant wasted no time sinking his claws into his bared valve, through the lubricant that was already gathering in numbers. “Just shut up and frag me.”

 _“Demanding,”_ Megatron commented with a growl of his own, angling his invading digits in a way that scraped wholly uncomfortably against the walls of his valve.

Sunstreaker’s helm thunked back against the wall behind him as his frame shuddered with another wave of heat that happily centered itself into his groin. Megatron took that as his invitation to abandon his throat in favor of locking their lips together again, and this time Sunstreaker’s mouth parted on its own before he could tell it better.

He found himself not minding that fact too much when Megatron pushed in, up there, and after just a bit of delay, _down there_ too. 

It was so much better than just his digits, no matter how thick those were too. Sunstreaker’s back arched as Megatron pushed in, _slowly,_ the twin’s vocalizer growling in further _demand_ that went completely unheeded. Megatron refused to hurry up, taking his sweet ass time until Sunstreaker was panting against the wall, against the warlord, leaking an embarrassing amount of lubricant past the stretch of the tyrant’s spike—were he the type to know what the pit embarrassment felt like, anyway.

It was _heaven,_ it was _hell_ both at once. He felt fit to glitch every part of his mind that hadn’t gotten glitched already and the sparkling made sure to let him know _exactly_ how it felt about this turn of events. 

After the stress and uncertainty over the past however many hours, it was thrice as eager for positive emotion, the fucking sense of _thrill_ that Megatron always awakened in him—like jumping headfirst off the tallest building. His spark spun in his chassis and the sparklet spun faster than that, only adding to the barrage of sensation in his frame. He was hot, he was _electrified,_ and when Megatron pulled out it was all he could do to hold onto the shreds of his sanity.

 _After the stress and uncertainty over the past however many hours…_ Maybe the sparkling wasn’t the only one that could use a little downtime. He wasn’t sure how close he’d actually come to losing it, but it was still too close for comfort no matter his faith in Megatron’s intent to _intervene._ Things could have gone very wrong.

Instead… There was this. Instead of anything going too wrong, Megatron was holding him against a wall in the middle of a perfectly public corridor, with Sunstreaker’s legs around his middle, with his spike pushing back so _deep_ into his valve—with Sideswipe next to them, pretending nothing was happening.

None of them gave a damn if someone, if _everyone_ saw. What was there to hide, anyway? They’d all known what happened behind closed doors. What was it to actually _show_ how it was done? 

Show how fragging _big_ Megatron was in comparison to him, how he pushed his frame to its limits but only in the _best_ of ways, in ways that would’ve driven him up the fucking _walls_ if Megatron had ever let go of him. 

But he didn’t let go, only held him where he could use his frame and deliver some mind-numbing _pleasure_ the likes of which he wasn’t going to ever get used to. Megatron pulled back, Megatron pushed in; Sunstreaker arched his frame against every entry, losing himself more the faster the tyrant’s pace got. Scuffs, _dents,_ worn paint… All the things he would love to complain about afterwards didn’t matter _in the moment,_ and wouldn’t for as long as Megatron kept doing what he did. 

And what he did was drive into him, _kiss_ him, trap and pin him against the wall, _growl_ when Sunstreaker’s arms wove around his neck.

He could spend forever just like this, feeling the pleasure multiply in his frame until he was _high_ with it, until he was shaking, aching, and yet, never wanting anything _less._ Make him lose his fucking mind for good for all he cared.

It would all be worth it.

“I hate you,” he snarled against Megatron’s lips between one thrust and the next, his valve clenching—drawing a rev from Megatron’s engine. “The fucking things you do to me. Ought to kill you.”

“I welcome the attempt,” Megatron growled right back at him, _punishing_ him with a particularly hard snap of his hips that only felt like a _reward._ “You wouldn’t be the first one—and you wouldn’t be the _last.”_

Sunstreaker chuckled, the second he could make that sound for before it morphed into a gasp, a moan. 

“You _love_ what I do to you,” the tyrant continued, pulling back enough to stare him in the optic—the bastard was smiling, however slightly. “You have from the very _beginning.”_

“You’re insane,” Sunstreaker ground out, because Megatron only sped up his pace, unraveling him and his thoughts further. They were both running hot. He could feel the inescapable _heat_ wafting from the warlord’s frame, surrounding him until there wasn’t a cool ventilation to be had.

He wouldn't rather be anywhere else. “Fragging _delusional.”_

“You’re a terrible liar,” Megatron near-purred, coming back for his fucking _neck_ and revisiting the aching marks he’d already left behind. Sunstreaker shuddered when the tyrant’s denta sank into the same wounds, the pain of it very genuine.

And so _heady._

“Your frame _always_ gives you away.”

“Try to keep it together while getting fucked like this, I dare you,” Sunstreaker growled, refusing to let his voice stutter like his engine did—and still unable to keep it from shaking entirely. As much as he would have hoped this to last forever, to spend an eternity on the cusp of a release like this, charge was building and he couldn’t deny it. Couldn’t deny his frame.

Couldn’t deny reality and the fleeting nature of all things.

And now maybe wasn’t the best time to start thinking too deep into things.

“I’d rather do the _fucking,”_ the tyrant said to him, and Sunstreaker had to focus hard to make sense of the words over the rush in his audials. “Undoing you is _exquisite.”_

Sunstreaker’s laughter was the last thing before the heavy groan of an overload was forced from his vocalizer, his frame seizing and charge snapping _painfully_ all across him—and into Megatron, who growled his own release.

He was barely aware of the excess heat that bloomed in his valve, though, caught on the knife tip of _ecstasy_ and forced to feel his pleasure in excruciating detail through drawn out seconds that just wouldn’t _end._ His vocalizer broke into static, but Megatron wouldn’t stop _moving_ even through the arrhythmic clenching of his valve—recovering from his own overload so much faster and working himself into a _second_ one before Sunstreaker had even finished cresting the _first_ one. 

It only fed more charge into his frame until he felt like a fucking bolt of lightning. He could have sworn he was _glowing,_ if his optics had agreed to work any. 

Then, like all good things, like all terrible things, it _ended,_ and he slumped between the wall and Megatron, rebooting his sensors just to get anything to come through to his processors. He could hear the hum of the ship, the heavy ventilations of two frames, irregular revving of several engines, could smell the mix left behind by lubricant, transfluid, and overloads, could feel the tyrant’s servos on him, keeping him up, and when his optics onlined as the last thing–

Could see Megatron staring down at him, optics still _heated._

And Sunstreaker knew—through the lack of satiation in his frame, through its demand for _more_ despite its exhaustion—that his were no better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .･:*:･✧ romance ✧･:*:･。


	20. Rain

“I’m sending you to Cybertron.”

Just like that. There was no warning, no ‘would you like to’ (hah, as if there was ever going to be that), just the announcement that hey, they’d be doing this now, congrats!

Sideswipe’s optics snapped open from where he _had_ been basking in the pleasant afterglow of—for once—getting some of Megatron’s attention on himself. The tyrant’s frame was all but scorching to the touch where Sideswipe was stretched along his side and partly on top of him, but damn, the mech had stamina.

“What?!” Sunstreaker snarled from Megatron’s other side, and Sideswipe could feel his desire to push himself upright to glare at the warlord all proper like.

But after a testing twitch, the languid heaviness in his limbs made him think better of it. See, _first_ Megatron had fragged Sunstreaker absolutely strutless in some… Whatever reunion thing this was.

And then, like he hadn’t just exerted himself to the pits and back and then again, Megatron had decided to fuck _Sideswipe_ too.

Sideswipe had no complaints about that. Neither did Sunstreaker for that matter, because his brother had been really unsure if he could’ve survived any more of Megatron’s attentions. It probably wasn’t an unexpected spell of _kindness_ or _mercy_ on Megatron’s part, but likely more something along the lines of not wanting to completely burn out the carrier of his sparkling.

While apparently still having some frustrations of his own left, because man, Megatron had gone _hard_ on him. Again, Sideswipe didn’t have a single complaint about that and it was some spectacular interfacing–

But he was a little dented and sore right now. 

At least it looked like Megatron had finally worked through whatever aimless aggression he’d had left after beating some Autobots. That had only taken all of two days, too.

Of course, then they got to the end, and suddenly they were being told they were going to get sent to another _planet,_ where there definitely wouldn’t be interfacing like this because it didn’t exactly sound like Megatron intended to come along. He was kind of needed on Earth, anyway.

“You’re sending us to that dead chunk of metal?” Sunstreaker continued in a furious hiss.

It wasn’t about the deadness of the planet to him, though. “The slag are we supposed to be doing there anyway?”

It wasn’t about lack of things to do either, really.

“You will pay Shockwave’s compound a _visit,”_ Megatron growled right back. It didn’t take a genius to surmise what had prompted this, based on that.

“This is about the Autobots, right?” Sideswipe asked, and although tired, he was nowhere near the shape Sunstreaker was in, so he leveraged himself partly up to look at the warlord. Megatron’s optics were as baleful as ever, but Sideswipe wasn’t a coward any more than his brother was. “You don’t want them to get their hands on the sparklet?”

Megatron inclined his helm at him. “There is a far lower threat of _Autobots_ on Cybertron.” And the Prime wasn’t there. Who was, at this point? Wreckers were probably off-world. Ultra Magnus? Elita and his troops? Maybe a few others. 

And who in their right mind would try to bring down Shockwave in his lair with soldiers that limited? The rumored security Shockwave maintained was enough to dent even the strongest of optimists.

For the safety of the sparkling, Megatron seemed intent on sending them into the middle of that. Which… Well, it would at least remove the sparkling from the Autobots’ reach pretty effectively. Even if they tried to follow, they’d still need to go toe to toe with Shockwave and his drones and countless automatic defenses, not to mention the Seekers and other Decepticons stationed with him, before they could get to Sunstreaker and the sparkling. That was practically _suicide._

So, if the goal was to keep the sparkling from falling prey to the Autobots’ ill intent, it was a solid plan.

Didn’t make a certain someone any more happy with it.

At the same time… Sunstreaker’s engine was revving like mad, and not from nice things like arousal or the like, but even he couldn’t deny Earth wasn’t the safest place. The Autobots had gotten onto the Victory before. Jazz had already paid them a visit. They were just lucky the Autobots hadn’t seemed so hell bent on ‘freeing’ Sunstreaker at the time as they had become in further practice—after Ratchet’s visit, really. Them and their pissing need to confirm for themselves what influence Sunstreaker was under, when Ratchet refused to share.

And then thinking Sunstreaker _was_ under enough influence to warrant killing the sparkling if nothing else worked. Or, slag, would they have tried to bring the protocols offline anyway, and then just reprogrammed him if that fucked him up beyond the point of no return?

No point thinking about all that now, though. It hadn’t come to pass.

But it _could,_ still.

Unless they were on Cybertron, under Shockwave’s ever so _loving_ care.

That was a bit of an issue though. “You think he won’t put us on a dissection table for being split-spark?” Sunstreaker asked sharply, engine still snarling and his vocalizer not much better.

Megatron glared at him. “Shockwave knows better than to go against my orders. You’re free to _consent_ to his research, but he’s not permitted to touch you without your permission—nor is he allowed to harm the sparkling in _any_ way, indirectly or not.”

Seemed… Reasonable enough, considering this was _Megatron_ they were talking about. Shockwave was one of the most dangerous Cybertronians currently in existence, and not just because he was an amoral and emotion free _intellectual,_ but because he was just as formidable _physically._

Except there wasn’t much question that Megatron could and would kick his aft if Shockwave stepped out of line. It was only _logical_ to obey, lest you bring harm and potential death upon yourself. Right?

Frag, he had no idea what went around in Shockwave’s helm. Could they trust this situation, or would they end up getting their spark all cut up in the name of Shockwave’s hunt for ever increasing knowledge?

Did they have any choice in taking the risk?

They didn’t, not really. Megatron wanted it, and what Megatron wanted, Megatron got.

Sunstreaker was still growling. “What happened to _contributing to the sparkling,_ anyway?”

Megatron barely missed a beat before growling back an _entirely_ aggravated, “I think I have contributed an adequate amount, _wouldn’t you say?”_

That… Yeah. Sunstreaker took a moment to consider the fact there was a very sizable pool under his aft, and more still leaking right out of him, and that probably wasn’t going to change anytime soon if you took into account the amount of transfluid Megatron had pumped into him.

Sunstreaker grumbled something under his breath. Sideswipe snickered before pushing himself fully to sitting–

Only to flop across Megatron’s chassis, folding his arms in front himself and resting his chin on them.

As _casual_ as Sideswipe made the act, he was prepared for painful retaliation. This had to be testing some boundaries.

Nothing ever came, though. Megatron’s look of surprise quickly melted into a single raised optical ridge that only earned a grin from the red twin.

Boundaries successfully pushed!

Sunstreaker had dedicated himself to sulking and didn’t even look their way. He was an ass like that.

“When?” Sideswipe asked, tilting his helm a bit. Megatron didn’t need to ask what he was referring to, of course. He wasn’t an idiot.

“As soon as your brother gathers the _strength_ to move.”

Sunstreaker quieted for a second, and Sideswipe’s laughter rang at the same moment as his twin broke his silence to the tune of some _very_ angry cussing.

Way to offend a mech there, Megs.

But after a bit more rest and some much needed fueling, Sunstreaker managed to drag himself from the berth. He was still a barely contained ball of violence, but equipped with far too great awareness of his shaking limbs that completely robbed him of any honest chance at _expressing_ his feelings through anything except waspish words.

Sideswipe ignored that. The ire wasn’t really aimed at him anyway. Megatron got most of it, but anyone else they happened across wasn’t really spared either. 

Megatron _mostly_ ignored it too. Sometimes Sunstreaker got growled responses, a few times he got _claws,_ but really there wasn’t near as much reaction as there _could_ have been. That only seemed to make Sunstreaker even more annoyed, the hissy fit he was busy throwing spiraling to rival anything they’d seen Starscream dish out.

That fact wasn’t lost to the Decepticons, either. There were muted snickers, whispered words comparing Megatron’s two (apparently primary) flings, and talk about how he had to have a _type_ right there.

But all of it was spoken where Megatron couldn’t fully hear it, lest he be given a reason to administer some punishment for lack of respect or whatever. 

After they’d fetched their few possessions from their quarters, it was honestly an excessive amount of Decepticons that were ordered to accompany them to the space bridge. There was no question that Megatron was very serious about not giving the Autobots a chance to successfully do a damn thing, even assuming they’d had the time to recover even somewhat.

Which they probably hadn’t, if Sideswipe’s assessment of how many injuries they’d all acquired was even close to the truth. They had held their own fine outside the Ark last he’d seen, but of course then the Seekers had basically carpet bombed the lot of them, and if that didn’t hurt he didn’t know what did.

But so they made it to the site of the space bridge without an incident, and the twins unboarded the best space taxi, Astrotrain. “How did you even have everything set up so quick?” Sideswipe asked from Megatron as he trotted up to the big mech overseeing the space bridge’s activation.

Megatron glanced at him. “Soundwave arranged everything. On my order.”

Ah. So while they were busy having the lights fragged out of them by Megatron, he’d apparently had the time to let his third know about his plans.

And of course Soundwave would get things done. What had he even gotten up to? Informed Shockwave, arranged the Decepticons on this end to escort duty, set up the activation of the bridge itself, and made sure the Decepticons on Cybertron’s end were prepared to receive them and bring them to Shockwave’s compound? Something like that, probably.

There were no Autobots to be seen even by the time the bridge portal opened. “Enter,” Megatron ordered them with a careless gesture in the direction of the portal as it whirled to life.

Sunstreaker _growled. “I hate you.”_ A digit was jabbed at Megatron’s chassis, but despite that, his brother marched towards the bridge. Sideswipe followed after throwing a quick, “See ya!” at the warlord.

“Have a safe trip!” Skywarp wished them with a wave. Sideswipe waved back with a grin.

Meanwhile Starscream hissed, “Good riddance,” _right_ where Sunstreaker was sure to hear it. The SIC became the target of one _intense_ glower, but Sunstreaker didn’t do more than flip the bird at him before stopping at that last step that would have taken him into the portal, waiting until Sideswipe was next to him.

Then they took it together, the scenery of the Earth changing into the green and blue vortex of the bridge’s interior. “Wonder if we’ll get to see any of Shockwave’s _experiments,”_ Sideswipe mused as they walked along the tunnel.

“Just as long as we don’t _become_ those experiments,” Sunstreaker grunted back at him.

Sideswipe laughed. “Come on, have a little faith! I don’t think Shockwave’s dumb enough to go against Megs.”

His brother didn’t have time to make more than a noncommittal noise before they cleared the bridge and appeared on the other side. The dead, dark, cold landscape of Cybertron greeted them—familiar metal beneath their pedes, but no light beyond that the stars cast from the sky that had by now cleared of its old pollution that had once covered nearly all of the planet.

Their home, now nearly inhabitable.

More Decepticons were waiting for them, all of them Seekers. One of them stepped forward to greet them, and that was one they could _recognize_ —if only because his trine had rained acid across Cybertron, much to the chagrin of the Autobots. “I’m Nova Storm,” he introduced himself. One of the Rainmakers, no doubt about that. “Are you okay to drive the way to the compound? It’s not far and the roads should be in passable condition.”

After being carted everywhere via a shuttle, driving sounded pretty nice. Plus they could enjoy the scenery a bit more.

What there was to enjoy. Broken landscape, old marks of explosions, jutting, torn structures as far as the eye could see.

But it was Cybertron.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Sideswipe confirmed. “Just show the way.”

They got a nod in return before all of the Seekers transformed and took to the air on one gesture from Nova Storm. The twins transformed as well and raced after the fliers as they zipped forward, following each other in pairs of two. Even had the roads not been in bad enough condition that they couldn’t go full speed and had to swerve around obstacles on irregular intervals, they would never have kept up with Seekers, but the fliers took that into account. They flew slower than they could, and although still considerably faster than the twins, the pair at the front would loop back around to become the last pair, and repeat so there was always a line of Seekers right ahead of them, pointing the way.

The roads, while far from perfect, were indeed in _passable_ condition the whole way. They didn’t need to transform again before they’d already reached the doors of the compound—and that after driving by all manner of defenses for a considerable time already—the Seekers transforming as well and dropping down around them.

The doors opened to the fliers and the brothers followed them inside. Things were… Honestly you couldn’t even call it _lit_ with how dim everything was, but not like lights were strictly necessary for their species anyway.

It was clear, though, that the fact Cybertron hadn’t orbited a star in a long time was severely affecting life on it. There weren’t many ways to generate energy anymore, especially with the core of the planet almost as dead as the surface.

Sideswipe wondered if the planet would eventually cool enough to make life for their species upon it completely impossible, at least on the surface. The lower decks had always gotten progressively hotter the lower you went. Maybe that still held true to an extent and the few mecha left on the planet could escape beneath the surface even if the temperature dropped too much.

“How many mecha are left on Cybertron, anyway?” Sideswipe asked as they walked the dark but spacious hallways deeper and deeper into the compound—and lower by a level or two, too.

“There are a few more Decepticon bases scattered around,” Nova Storm responded, just vague enough that their question was answered without providing any important intel to them. “Some Autobots are still holed up in Iacon, too, but we don’t have the resources to smoke them out. Same holds true for them too, though.”

“So a stalemate, like on Earth?”

“The whole war everywhere is that right now, I’m pretty sure.”

Something needed to give on one side or the other for things to change.

...Something had given. They’d left the Autobots and stripped their forces on Earth of some of their strongest frontliners.

But was that a change big enough?

What about if they officially changed sides? Sunstreaker wanted to fight the Autobots after what they’d done to him, and Sideswipe couldn’t say he had much against the idea either, not after that whole disaster.

Would that be enough to tip the scales? Could he give their spark and its two frames that much credit?

But that was a moot point right now. They weren’t even on Earth anymore, and wouldn’t be for who knew how long, and it didn’t sound like there was much fighting going on on Cybertron. So, no battles for them to participate in, for either side.

Just a war neither side could win.

“These will be your quarters,” Nova Storm said as they came to one door along a corridor of doors that Sideswipe assumed held other rooms for other occupants. He _physically_ opened the one he pointed out. Most of the Seekers that had accompanied them dispersed at that—only Nova Storm and one other stayed. “I hope you’ll find them adequate. We left a few datapads with some entertainment on them for you, but with how low on energy we are, you probably had more to do on Earth. Sorry about that.”

“Can we spar? With each other, I mean,” Sideswipe asked as he looked inside the room right after Sunstreaker. It was furnished as sparsely as the quarters they’d had on the Victory, but these were over twice as big.

But obviously space wasn’t such an issue on planetside as it was on a spaceship. 

“Yeah, sure. Hold on…” Nova Storm went quiet for a moment before they were pinged with a map of the compound—or that of a _part_ of it, anyway. Many portions were clearly omitted, so Sideswipe suspected what they’d gotten was just the area they were allowed to explore, and the rest was off limits.

Shockwave was the secretive sort, anyway.

“You should find your way around with that. We have pretty strict ratios so I can’t suggest burning through too much fuel, though.”

“We’ll be careful,” Sideswipe promised. So… Cybertron might’ve been the safer location for the sparkling, but it looked like life was pretty difficult on it. Not that that should’ve come as much of a surprise. Even the Autobots had known that the Decepticons sent most of the energon they acquired back to Cybertron for a _reason._

“Also,” their Seeker friend continued, his optics glowing in the dark as he looked between them, “Flatline has offered to edit your armors to be a little more… Well, no offense, but you look pretty _Autobot._ He thought it might be a good welcome present.”

That was… Awful nice and thoughtful. Sideswipe blinked in surprise. “Really? He could do that?”

“Yeah, sure. We have the raw materials for it. If you want to?”

Did they want to? Sideswipe locked optics with Sunstreaker and they… Considered the offer. The suggestion was pretty clear: make them look more _Decepticon._

It was weird how almost everyone already treated them like they belonged to the faction, despite the fact they had never officially switched sides, only ditched the Autobots. _Technically,_ then, they were Neutrals right now, and that was a dirty word.

But maybe it being a dirty word was why no one called them that. Plus the fact Sunstreaker was, you know, _carrying Megatron’s offspring,_ which in the optics of most probably tied them to the warlord rather effectively.

Not that that was untrue, it was just that… Would it last after the sparkling’s separation? It was like everyone assumed it would.

And in all honesty they were slowly leaning towards the _it would_ themselves.

And they knew they looked the part of an _Autobot,_ had for a long time. They had almost no sharp edges on them, no claws, no fangs. None of the things they’d _used_ to have before joining the ‘Bots, just on account of being Kaonite, and Kaonite gladiators at that. 

If they could have that back… 

It was tempting. No, not just tempting. They _wanted_ it. 

Here they had an opportunity for it.

So why not take it?

Sideswipe nodded at Sunstreaker, then turned his attention to Nova Storm and nodded again. “Honestly, that would be great. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It’s not. He’s itching to have something to do, anyway,” Nova Storm said with a lopsided grin. “There’s not too much of a need for a medic right now.” And Shockwave probably didn’t involve him in all of his research and experiments, if any at all. He wasn’t sure about that, but hey, if they could give the poor mech something to do, while benefiting from it themselves?

_Hell yeah._

“Then we’d love to,” Sideswipe confirmed again, nodding more firmly this time. Nova Storm nodded back at him, before pinging them again, this time with a location on the maps they’d just gotten. “His repair bay is there. Go see him whenever you’re ready and he’ll set you up with everything he needs from you.”

“Sweet. I think we’ll go do that right now.” Not like they had anything better to do. Besides, it’d be nice to have it done ASAP, and just… Get to _enjoy_ their frames again, instead of feeling like they were missing something. 

Because they were missing something. They were missing quite a few things, actually.

“Sure. And here’s my comm. Give me a call if you need anything,” Nova Storm said in parting before he took his leave down the corridor with just a wave at them, the other Seeker leaving with him—but also after giving them a wave.

Seriously. They were getting treated like they were already _Decepticons_ in all kinds of ways. 

He couldn’t really object to it, though. It was honestly pretty nice.

They closed the door to their room and set down the hallway in the opposite direction, following the map they had until they reached a set of double doors. There wasn’t any more light here than anywhere else, and these doors didn’t just slide out of the way automatically either.

Could they just walk in? Sideswipe wasn’t sure about that, so he gave the door a knock instead.

They only waited for some seconds before the door was opened by a mech from the other side. “Flatline?” Sideswipe asked for confirmation’s sake.

“Ah, you must be Sideswipe and Sunstreaker,” the mech said, looking between them. “Here about your frame edits?”

Straight to the point, huh? “Yeah. We’d kinda like to take you up on that offer.”

“Stellar! Come on in and let’s talk.”

They did. The repair bay was near pitch black like the rest of the place, but that continued to not be a hindrance with all of the other sensors and scanners in their race’s use, that didn’t require one speck of light to work. 

Flatline led them to the back of the room with a desk and some chairs. “Alright, what I’ll obviously need from you are designs for what you’d like to look like. I challenge you to come up with something I couldn’t do.”

Sideswipe laughed in good humor at that. “I think we’d just like to return to our _pre-Autobot_ builds, and I don’t think those designs are too out there. Sorry.”

The medic and whatever frame editor he was on the side sighed in a totally exaggerated manner. “Oh well, I’ll just have to live with that. Do you have any pictures of your old designs I could build schematics based on?”

Sunstreaker nodded and fetched his drawing pad from his subspace. Its screen came to life as about the only source of light in the room aside from their optics, and his brother quickly navigated to his drawings of _them,_ as they’d been. 

_Could they really be that again..?_

“Oh, that’s thorough,” Flatline noted, his optics brightening in what looked like excitement. “Did you draw these yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“Impressive! And these are what you want? No changes?”

Sideswipe considered it for a moment, looking at the images Sunstreaker had drawn, and his brother was doing the same. Now was their chance to change whatever they wanted to, huh? But had they ever really had complaints about their old looks? As much as they had been slaves at the time they’d gotten their final upgrades, they had still had some word in what they wanted to look like, as long as it fit the right _aesthetic_ —and standards of attractiveness, but who was going to complain about _that?_

They’d liked their looks before the Autobots had edited them to look less dangerous, less Kaonite, less _Decepticon._

“No changes,” Sunstreaker answered after they’d come to their decision, pushing the drawing pad a little closer to Flatline, who nodded and pulled out a large datapad of his own. He plugged it into Sunstreaker’s pad and deftly downloaded all of the pictures of their old frames as references for himself, as well as the schematics of their frames that Sunstreaker pointed out to him. There wasn’t much to do without those… But maybe Sunstreaker had kept them with his other images in hopes of something like this happening.

Even if they’d never before had any actual hope of it.

“Alright then. Now, if you’d take your armor off,” the medic instructed when he unplugged his datapad and inspected its newly acquired contents, “Hmm… _All of it_ off, it looks like. Your downgrade really was thorough…”

“You don’t say,” Sunstreaker snorted.

Flatline shook his helm in disapproval, probably at whoever had stripped them of all of their edges, and not at Sunstreaker. “There’s a private room behind that door if you don’t want to go walk through the halls in your protoforms back to your quarters. It’s safe within the compound, but understandably that can feel a bit disconcerting.”

 _You don’t say._ Sideswipe made a face. This was the downside of complete edits, you had to be all… _Defenseless_ while they were done. Protoforms just weren’t meant to be uncovered for anything else except planetary entries _in its alt-mode._ Nothing else. And yeah, for gladiators and warriors that was especially going to have every single instinct screaming at them.

This wasn’t going to be fun.

But the results? Those would be worth it.

“If it’s cool we’d like to stay out of sight,” Sideswipe said as he began to unlock his armor and remove it. 

All of it. Literally all of it. Flatline nodded at him, but was courteous enough to not watch the process that Sunstreaker joined in on after just a small delay. Off came their chestplates, their collars, their pauldrons, rerebraces, gauntlets, gloves, waist cinches, groin pieces, cuisses, poleyns, greaves, sabatons...

Helmets and faceplates. 

_Everything._

They didn’t stop before every piece of armor was stripped off of their frames and nothing but bare protoform was left on every inch of them, their patchy exoskeletons the only thing left to protect their internals. 

But then they were done. “I’ll take good care of your armors, fear not,” Flatline promised, then gestured at the door he’d pointed out, “This should take me a few groons. The door’s open, but you can lock it behind yourselves.”

“‘Kay,” was all Sideswipe said before they scurried off to the private room, their protoforms still in the middle of returning to their armorless configurations. That was always a weird feeling, to kind of just… Deflate, when there wasn’t armor to fit into. 

They did lock the door behind themselves. There was a berth in the small room, some surfaces for medical equipment that wasn’t there right now, a few chairs. About as bare as their quarters, but that just meant they couldn’t mess with anything they weren’t supposed to mess with.

How disappointing.

They both hopped onto the berth, though neither laid down. Sideswipe poked at some of the exposed machinery in his thigh; Sunstreaker inspected his digits and the little joints left to open air.

Pits, their protoforms weren’t _fragile,_ they knew that much, but they still felt mighty fragile right now. 

At least there wasn’t anyone to see them. Thank Primus for small mercies.

But after the novelty of seeing all of their protoform died off, in settled the _boredom._ Sunstreaker merely pulled out his drawing pad again and set to sketching, but he was always better equipped to handle not having anything to do. Sideswipe watched for a while as the shape of _Megatron_ slowly materialized onto the canvas, but that wasn’t going to entertain him forever. In the end he pulled out a datapad he had some Earth games on, plugged into it, and set to virtually shoot things. 

Considerably safer than the real thing, but nowhere near as exciting, either. But eh, beggars couldn’t be choosers. It’d do.

The image of Megatron was almost done and Sideswipe was just about bored of his game when there was a knock on the door a moment before Flatline peeked in. Sideswipe checked his chronometer, and for as many groons as it had taken, it still felt like Flatline had been pretty quick about it.

Not that he was entirely sure how long stuff like this usually took. “I’m done. If you’d come to fit everything on so I can see if anything needs any tweaking.”

“That was fast,” Sideswipe commented despite how much he wasn’t sure if it _was_ fast. They both dropped off the berth and followed after the medic as he retreated from the door back to the repair bay.

“Thank you,” Flatline said, so maybe it really was faster than the average since he wasn’t corrected on the point. Huh.

The lights of the room brightened enough to grant some color vision on top of other sensor readings. Sunstreaker’s engine rumbled in pleasure the moment they set their optics on their retrofitted armor pieces. Everything was missing paint on so many spots, but that was their problem to fix and didn’t come as a surprise.

What was more important was that nothing looked anything like the shape they’d left it to Flatline’s care in. They could still recognize it as _theirs,_ but now it really… It really _was_ theirs. Gone were the rounded edges on everything, replaced by sharp corners and wicked spines and spikes.

And in the midst of it all, Sideswipe could spy the armor of his servos, and the _claws_ that now decorated the tip of every digit—long, sturdy, sharp, _dangerous,_ with not only a menacing point made to _pierce,_ but also a long cutting edge at the bottom.

Just as they were in the Pits. They were made to hurt, _rend,_ damage.

His spark felt fit to vibrate straight out of its chamber and the sparkling sharing the space in Sunstreaker’s core was paying very close attention to the _excitement_ that was bouncing between their two halves. Sunstreaker tried not to show anything on the outside, but his optics were still too bright for normalcy.

Sideswipe didn’t even try to hide it and rushed straight for the armor bits that belonged to him, hovering his servos over them in awe.

_Frag._

“This is so awesome,” he breathed as he began to pick the pieces up in reverse order from what he’d removed them in, fitting them in place one by one. They locked in place and merged with his systems, and he could _feel_ the paintless extensions integrate with him—all the edges he barely remembered the feeling of.

Now he could re-experience all of it, and pits, it felt _good._ He couldn’t get the pieces on fast enough, and Sunstreaker was little better as he fit his own armor over his protoform. The sparkling didn’t understand yet. It had never had a physical body. It didn’t know what it felt like to _love_ your body.

But it would, eventually. For now Sunstreaker could only soothe its confusion, make it focus on just the _emotion,_ and not so much on the source of it. 

They weren’t sure if they’d ever redressed themselves this fast, and Flatline took clear pleasure in their eagerness. He directed them to a mirror as soon as they were done, and Sideswipe drank in the sight just as hungrily as Sunstreaker, even if he was the less vain half of them. 

They looked like they were _supposed to_ look. That was the root of it—the _rightness._ They looked every bit as savage as they had once upon a time, like they could go to the Pits _right now_ and fit right in. 

Well, aside from the fact they were missing a good portion of their paint jobs.

“Does anything feel off?” Flatline asked as he stared at the both of them critically. They turned in front of the mirror, staring at themselves, staring at each other, drinking in the sight— _feeling_ it. 

“My right shoulder feels kinda funny?” Sideswipe eventually said, rotating said shoulder.

“Let me have a look.” The medic wasted no time poking, prodding and tugging at the area, humming to himself. “It’s a bit loose. If you’d take that off so I can tighten it a bit.”

Sideswipe did so, handing the armor back to Flatline and watching as he returned to his workbench.

It barely took any time at all before he was back already. “Try now.”

 _Now_ they were talking. Sideswipe grinned at the mirror. “Fits perfect. You’ve got some mad skills on you, mech.”

Flatline huffed. “Thank you,” he said again, turning to Sunstreaker and asking about the fit of his armor too.

Sunstreaker pointed out his thigh and knee, and those came off for some tweaking as well—and again, once they were returned, they fit just like they were supposed to. 

Sideswipe still couldn’t stop looking at himself, looking at Sunstreaker, looking at _them…_ He would’ve said there were no traces of _Autobot_ on them anymore, but that wasn’t true. 

Flatline had preserved their insignias— _scratched out_ insignias. They still stood on in the middle of their chestplates, a reminder of what they had been—what they weren’t anymore. Megatron’s work right there for everyone to see.

But they didn’t have Decepticon insignias on them either. 

Sideswipe mused about that silently for a moment before deciding to just bite the bullet and ask about it.

“Lord Megatron hasn’t said anything about giving you your insignias,” came Flatline’s answer, provided with a shrug. And again there was that, talking as if they already _were_ Decepticons—although maybe in a bit more unofficial capacity than most, if they weren’t given ‘their’ insignias.

Yet. Would that happen at some point too, if they opted to fight for Megatron? Would they become _officially_ Decepticons? _Officially_ enemies of their former faction, instead of just being suspended between the two sides, nominally Neutrals?

Except there wasn’t really being true _Neutral_ when carrying the sparkling of one side’s fragging _leader._

And… There was one other _Autobot_ thing about them. “I have your fangs and other dental pieces too,” Flatline said, and Sideswipe couldn’t contain his _squee._

“Those too?” His voice was way too high, wasn’t it? But slaggit, _his fangs._

Flatline just grinned at him. “Of course. They were part of your designs. Would you lay down for me so I can fit them in?”

That wasn’t even a thing worth asking. Sideswipe all but flew to the nearest berth and laid down on it, the medic only fetching the pieces of denta before coming to him. He didn’t need to ask Sideswipe to open his mouth, or for him to unlock his denta. Flatline’s field was amused, but he didn’t say anything as he simply removed the denta that had been fitted in to replace his _rightful_ ones too long ago.

Flatline did the opposite, slotting in the flat razors first, and then, four fangs far too long and sharp— _just_ how Sideswipe liked them. He was way too eager to lock those in once the medic said he was ready, and barely waited for permission to get up before he had already returned to the mirror, this time to inspect his _mouth._

Most of his denta didn’t look dangerous, never had, and weren’t meant to. You couldn’t see the cutting edges they were.

But his _canines._ Pits, those looked menacing in all kinds of ways, and sank into the slots in his mouth always made _just for them,_ except for the longest time there had been nothing to fit into those spaces.

Now there was.

He almost missed it when Sunstreaker laid down too. “And four triple-canines for you,” Flatline said, brandishing those dental pieces before repeating the process on Sunstreaker’s mouth—sans the razor bits. Sunstreaker had never had those, nor did he want them.

He enjoyed _chewing_ a bit too much. 

Sideswipe would happily give up his ability to chew a damn thing if it meant his _bite_ was absolutely devastating. Maybe he’d even remember how to _not_ snip his own glossa clean off!

And just like that, they both had their fangs back. Sunstreaker joined him in admiring their new-old dental configurations.

 _Slag._ This was almost too good to be true. They were so un-Autobot, again.

It felt damn good.

Flatline watched them take everything in for a while before he spoke up, kind of but not really interrupting them. “If everything fits as it should, Sunstreaker, I’d like to check you and the sparkling.”

Sunstreaker didn’t put up a fight about that, just nodded and laid down on the berth Flatline pointed out. The medic plugged in and Sideswipe stood to the side—still sorta maybe admiring every bit of himself—as he worked through Sunstreaker’s systems, inspecting things, running tests, taking readings. Predictably Sunstreaker was asked to bare his spark sooner rather than later, too, which he did without complaint, though a little tensely. 

But Flatline didn’t do anything untoward, just scanned the sparkling and performed a visual inspection on the little thing that honestly wasn’t so little anymore. “It looks to be growing healthy and strong. Congratulations for that. Nothing seems off; the frame’s coding is progressing as it should, too. You’ll have a hearty sparkling in your hands soon enough.”

“How soon?” Sunstreaker asked, closing his chestplates back up when Flatline signaled he had no more interest in his spark or internals. 

Flatline paused for a moment, presumably looking at the readings he’d just taken before answering, “Three deca-cycles, I’d say.”

That was… Not the longest time, but still pretty long to spend in a base that had barely any energy in its use. Even now the lights were dimming back down, making optics next to useless. Sunstreaker nodded all the same. Not like they had much of a choice, and really, if they wanted the sparkling to stay safe, then this… Was the best option. 

They’d just have to deal.

“How do we know it’s starting to separate?” Sideswipe asked as Sunstreaker sat back up and swung his legs to the floor.

Flatline laughed lightly. “Oh, trust me, you’ll know. It’ll hurt like the pit. Spark pain, you know how intense that can be.”

“...Nice,” Sideswipe commented. Sunstreaker dragged a servo down his face, not really… Looking forward to that. As familiar as they were with pain, physical pain couldn’t even hold a candle to _spark_ pain. And sure, they suffered from chronic spark pain— _yaaaay_ split-spark—but somehow they doubted even that was going to compare to having the sparkling sever the bond to its carrier. Bondmates didn’t have a habit of surviving their partner’s death.

And they were going to experience the breaking of _a_ bond, even if it wasn’t that of mates.

So, that couldn’t be fun!

“Right,” Sunstreaker sighed all the same, already resigning himself to that future, what with it being _completely inevitable._

“Just let me know once it starts,” Flatline instructed them. “I’d prefer to supervise the process, especially considering you’re only half-spark. One of split-spark twins getting ignited isn’t very well documented.”

“Will do,” Sideswipe promised.

There was a beat of silence before the medic nodded. “You’re free to go, if you have no other questions. If something comes up at any point, you know who to call. I hope.”

Sideswipe snickered. _“You,_ I’m guessing. Thanks. And extra thanks for the retrofits, they’re slagging fantastic.”

“You’re very welcome. Now go enjoy them and add some paint on there. If you need more light, you can request a room to be brightened a bit for a limited duration.”

“Noted,” Sunstreaker said, pushing himself off the berth entirely and leading the way to the repair bay’s doors. Sideswipe followed, giving Flatline a wave and another quick, “Thanks!” before they headed back for their quarters.

Time to do some _painting,_ and then figure out how the pit they were going to kill time while staying here.


	21. Nero

Turns out, life on Cybertron was exceptionally boring. Though after the introduction they were given to the whole _power conservation, no real war activities, barely enough fuel to scrape by,_ that didn’t come as much of a surprise.

Sideswipe still hated it. Really hated it. And honestly, as much as Sunstreaker was easier to entertain, his brother wasn’t particularly enjoying it either.

Neither was the sparklet. It was used to the highs of fights and every interaction with Megatron, the racing and the flying-slash-falling.

Here there was none of that. There was just the bland drudge through everyday attempts to somehow make the time pass at a pace that was even slightly faster than an absolute _crawl._

They were jumping off the walls after the third day. Sideswipe could admit that he especially, Sunstreaker at least tried to stay somewhat… Well, dignified probably wasn’t the right word for it, but you know, _not totally spastic_ like what Sideswipe was feeling like and mostly acting on. Kudos to Sunstreaker for managing that, because the sparkling was harassing him _constantly_ for something other than the thick _nothing_ that was Sunstreaker’s emotional life, with just a sprinkling of ever increasing annoyance that was quickly growing into true anger. Born from frustration, obviously. There was no Megatron to aggravate him, here.

And not really anyone else to do that, either. The Seekers and the few ground based Decepticons on base saw Sunstreaker for the powder keg he was and largely left him alone, which suited him fine.

Sideswipe, meanwhile, they correctly read as the social type, and they didn’t leave him alone. At all. Which he was honestly perfectly fine with, because spending time with the Decepticons provided at least temporary relief from the mounting _boredom._

Part of their fascination with them, and him in particular, came from the fact that they were well known warriors on both sides of the war. At the point where there were only a few hundred of your entire _species_ left, it was easy enough to build a reputation and spread your name through what remained of your race, and they had managed that. Mostly just through their fighting prowess, because that was sure to put them in the radar of anyone who wanted to keep living—don’t fight _the twins_ unless you had a death wish or could _really_ handle yourself—but also because their background had come pretty well known over time.

Kaonites. Kaonite gladiators. On the _Autobot_ side.

That was just weird.

And then they suddenly weren’t that anymore. _Everyone_ wanted to know _every detail_ of what the fuck had happened, from Megatron setting his sights on Sunstreaker, to Sunstreaker being surprisingly fine with it, to his accidental ignition, how Megatron had roasted him straight out of the Autobots, and to everything that had happened since their desertion-not-quite-defection. Sideswipe didn’t mind telling that story with much flourish but little exaggeration, all the way to why they’d gotten sent to Cybertron in the first place—how the Autobots were so against Megatron that they were willing to kill to remove someone from his sphere of influence, imagined or not. That got disapproval from damn well all of them, and some more cussing of the Autobots.

They blamed the Autobots for the state Cybertron was in—for how difficult their life on the planet had become. It was mostly the Decepticons that had driven it into that state, or rather, accelerated the process, because without a star to orbit, Cybertron had been doomed to become a wasteland eventually anyway. 

But they thought what the Decepticons had done was only in direct response to what the _Autobots_ had done. They hadn’t just let Megatron claim his rightful—their words, not his—position as Cybertron’s ruler, but had instead decided they wanted to uphold the Primacy and the whole system that had led to the massive divide between castes, from the arrogant, filthy rich nobles, to those of the Southern city-states doomed to struggle from day to day, just because someone somewhere decided they _mattered_ less than those created into the higher castes. 

What else was left for the Decepticons except to go on a warpath of total annihilation? They couldn’t allow the Primacy to last, and they couldn’t allow Optimus to lead their whole species. Didn’t _want_ that. 

So instead they’d followed Megatron when he’d turned from a revolutionist somewhat willing to entertain peaceful methods into a full blown warlord. They’d seen their salvation in him—the hope of the lower castes in him.

Was it just propaganda? How much truth did all that have behind it? Except, had the Autobots ever _disagreed_ with any of that? Their new friends owned up to every horrendous act Megatron had committed, starting from the razing of the Towers, to the utter destruction of Praxus, and everything in between and since then. They didn’t try to deny any of it, but spoke almost _proudly_ of it.

The Autobots would point at those same things as proof that the Decepticons couldn’t be allowed free reign of Cybertron, that they _had_ to be opposed. 

It was… Such a contrast. So vastly differing perspectives that Sideswipe was left rather uncomfortable on the other side of the complete badmouthing of the Autobots, not because he had that much love for the Autobots left, but… Frag, he’d spent most of the war listening to the _other side_ of that division. He’d never been the loyal type, but it had been drilled into him.

And now all of those teachings, some level of _beliefs,_ really, were being challenged. Who had the moral upper ground here? The Autobots, the masquerading liars, who liked to play it as if they’d committed no crimes severe enough to acknowledge during the war, and just pointed the finger at the Decepticons for everything?

Or the Decepticons, who put everything they’d done to the front and center as _necessary_ and hid themselves behind _no_ pretenses?

Was either side right?

Sunstreaker didn’t give a damn, and it followed that Sideswipe’s emotions on the whole matter quickly turned lukewarm, too. Sunstreaker only cared about the personal offense the Autobots had committed. Did he want to fight for Megatron because of it?

The answer was slowly becoming _yes._ Oh, Megatron still drove him mad and there were some intensely mixed feelings towards the mech Sideswipe wasn’t even going to get into, but the fact remained that he wanted to make the Autobots pay for what they’d done, and he could do just that by Megatron’s side. 

The Decepticons on base definitely seemed to talk like it was already a given they were going to do that. They’d already come this far, integrated with the Decepticons to this extent. Didn’t that just _follow?_

Maybe it would, but that wasn’t going to be a decision they’d need to make just yet, not with Megatron’s order being that they were to not leave the base. For anything. They weren’t even allowed to go for a _drive,_ and everyone was definitely apologetic over that fact, but no one was willing to go against Megatron’s explicit orders.

So they were stuck inside for the time being. Didn’t do much to help with the whole issue of spark deep _boredom._ But, they were novelties to the Decepticons, and they had stories from the current frontline of the war, and they had stories of the _Autobots_ through the whole war. There was a lot of talking Sideswipe got to do in the dark of the rec room, with one very rapt audience to listen to him.

And that didn’t even go into how interested they were in Earth entertainment. Not because they would’ve given a fuck about Earth or its residents, but because that too was _new,_ and they were desperate for anything new. Movies, shows, games—anything and everything Sideswipe had collected he got to share to many a datapad, and when he showed how he played some of the Earthen games, there was a bunch mecha looking over his shoulder going “ooohh” and “aaahh”.

It was kinda cute, actually. 

Even Sunstreaker joined in on some of the video and board games some of the Seekers that _didn’t_ immediately sink themselves into the Earth media Sideswipe had provided invited them to. That said quite a bit about how desperate even Sunstreaker was for things to do. His drawing pad definitely saw a lot of use too. Some of the Decepticons also had legit Cybertronian book files. Sideswipe wasn’t much of a reader, but Sunstreaker didn’t even care if they were up his alley or not, he still happily accepted copies of them to read.

So that was about how they tried to pass the time. There was no sight of Shockwave at any point, but when they asked about it, it was just said that he rarely came from his private portions of the compound. 

That was kind of disappointing, really.

Sunstreaker wasn’t as disappointed. He _still_ didn’t entirely trust Shockwave to do how Megatron ordered him to, and what with the safety of the sparkling being one of his upper priorities right now… Yeah.

Flatline invited them for regular checkups to follow the sparkling’s progress. Everything was going as it was supposed to, on that front. It was getting bigger, stronger, _more bossy,_ and Sunstreaker more irritable by the day, not only because the sparklet kept _demanding_ things from him, but also because of the fullness in his core. His spark chamber was just getting too small for the both of them, and pits if that wasn’t uncomfortable. His brother was volatile to begin with, but with that only worsening… Everyone started to maintain a bit of a _safety distance_ to his brother.

Miraculously enough, Sunstreaker didn’t properly lash out at anyone except Sideswipe. And chewed out Flatline a few times, but the medic took it like a champ and didn’t even seem that surprised. Sideswipe wondered if he expected the whole thing from Sunstreaker specifically, or if it was a thing that happened to most carriers eventually.

He could very well imagine it might be the latter, too. Who was going to really maintain good spirits throughout when their discomfort kept growing? Especially with a sparklet that had a personality like that of the one Sunstreaker was carrying.

But at least it was strong, and not just physically.

It got going pretty insidiously. Sunstreaker already had to struggle to not constantly rub his chestplates, and despite his best attempts his finish had lost most of its gloss at the area, the paint slowly wearing. But, after a time Sideswipe noticed that the frequency with which Sunstreaker’s servo found its way to his chest was slowly increasing, before his brother caught himself every time. With how tight things already were in his spark chamber, and with how frustrated the sparklet already was, there wasn’t really that much to think about the ever increasing ache, either.

Up until the _pain_ really started. It was just a single pang at first that had both of them pausing with what they were doing. Sideswipe glanced at his brother who was staring into nothingness, focused inward on whatever the fuck his spark was doing. The sparkling was pulsing anxiously.

And then it repeated, stronger this time. Hard enough, in fact, that Sunstreaker doubled over with a grunt. The tearing, burning kind of sensation didn’t let much question as to what was happening, and Sideswipe swiftly located Flatline’s comm.

::I think it’s starting,:: was all he said, and that was all Flatline needed to hear to understand.

::Come to my repair bay before it gets too bad for him to walk.::

Righty! So it was going to get that bad, apparently. Wasn’t that nice.

Sunstreaker blew all of the air from his vents when the pain receded for a moment, meeting Sideswipe’s optics with an expression that was little else but _annoyance._ Wasn’t it just so _inconvenient_ to be sparked, and have that sparkling begin its separation.

“Alright,” Sideswipe muttered to himself, putting his datapad down and getting up. Sunstreaker followed after a small delay of making sure he wasn’t going to keel right over, but. The longer he waited, the more likely it was that the veritable sawing in his spark was going to repeat. Sideswipe didn’t need to tell him twice. His brother got to his pedes as well, and together they left their quarters to take the few halls to the medbay. 

Just once Sunstreaker stumbled straight into a wall when the violent pull in his spark repeated, the sparkling spinning urgently. He leaned against it for a moment, cycling several deep ventilations, but Sideswipe knew him. His twin was a proud thing and help, even just from Sideswipe, wouldn’t have been too welcome. 

So he waited until Sunstreaker had gathered himself again, and then they continued on their way, doubletime this round. 

He didn’t bother knocking on the doors to the repair bay, just opened them to let them through. The lights weren’t brightened in the room, but Flatline was inside, busily typing on a datapad. He gestured to a berth when they entered, and Sunstreaker didn’t _quite_ rush to it, because there wouldn’t have been much except the ground to fall against if his spark decided to do the _thing_ again. 

Or maybe it was the sparkling doing it. Who started the separation? Frag if Sideswipe knew, and he didn’t have the time to ask before Sunstreaker had leaned on the edge of the berth _just_ in time for the tearing to repeat, his knees buckling, but arms not quite—barely keeping him upright.

Flatline didn’t approach him any more than Sideswipe did, being a smart mech and whatnot. Sunstreaker took another moment to collect himself before he pulled himself onto the berth and sat to its edge.

“You can lay down if you want,” Flatline said as he now approached, but Sunstreaker only glared at him. 

Then the medic continued with, “I contacted Lord Megatron. He’s on his way.”

The growl from Sunstreaker’s engine was absolutely _furious,_ enough to give even Flatline a pause. “That fucking bastard will wish he’d never come from the goddamn Well,” Sunstreaker promised over the revving of his engine, right before that sound _stuttered_ as another wave of slowly increasing agony took hold of his spark.

After this time his brother relented and properly fell down onto the berth, by now panting heavily. Surprisingly it wasn’t ricocheting between their spark too badly, so Sideswipe could walk pretty unhindered to his twin’s side.

That only made Sunstreaker angrier—why did _he_ have to suffer when Sideswipe was just fine?!—and Sideswipe snickered at the glare that was aimed at him. If looks could kill, he would surely be dead, but you know, looks from most weren’t that deadly. Not even those from Sunstreaker.

“How long is this gonna take?” Sideswipe asked from Flatline, glancing at the medic.

“Usually no longer than six groons, but I don’t know if the state of your spark will affect that any,” came the answer. Sunstreaker _groaned._

Six more groons of this? Yeah, just kill him now, he was going to die at this rate anyway.

Sideswipe patted his arm, but that didn’t get him more than another glare. Look at all the appreciation he was getting over here. “Is it gonna get worse?” he inquired with another look at Flatline, who was scanning Sunstreaker. By his look, there wasn’t anything in the readings that wasn’t supposed to be there.

“More frequent at the very least. The intensity might increase a bit too. 

“Oh fucking _lovely,”_ Sunstreaker muttered. Sideswipe snickered again. Even Flatline cracked a smile, which, honestly, was probably pretty safe in the moment because Sunstreaker was quickly getting to a shape where he wasn’t too much of a threat to anyone.

“Look at the bright side! Once you’ve survived this, your spark chamber will be all yours again,” Flatline said. Or _teased,_ probably. 

_“Once?_ More like _if,”_ his brother growled back at the medic, his words punctuated by another strangled groan as the sparklet did a little _spin_ that severely strained the connection its spark had to Sunstreaker’s spark-half. 

“Well, that is a distinct possibility too.” Wasn’t Flatline just the king of comforting words? Sideswipe laughed, then laughed harder when Sunstreaker swiped his claws across his abdomen, leaving deep grooves behind.

_Worth it._

But honestly, what were the chances their spark would end up snuffed by this? Probably decent, considering it was in two and that came with all kinds of weird side-effects.

Ah well. There wasn’t any escaping this because sparklings parted ways with their carriers sooner or later anyway. If they were going to die because of it… That was one cause of death they weren’t able to do a damn thing about.

Flatline stayed right outside of Sunstreaker’s reach as they waited and Sunstreaker’s personal deathwish increased. Sideswipe sympathized, because on a level of thought he knew exactly how much it hurt, even if the sensation itself didn’t travel to his spark. Flatline did actually ask about that, and seemed more than a little intrigued by the answer. 

_“Fascinating._ I would have expected you’d both fall to the pain.”

Sideswipe shrugged, but he didn’t have very many complaints about this unexpected development. Maybe it was just because the sparkling only had a bond to one half of their spark and had never made any contact with Sideswipe’s half, or… Really, none of them had any idea what was the underlying reason, but Flatline asked some more questions and took notes the whole time.

So hey, at least they were probably helping some sort of research with this.

It took a handful of groons for anything at all to happen besides the tearing sensations coming closer together, but eventually the repair bay doors were opened.

Megatron walked in, as did Shockwave. 

“How is it progressing?” was the first question out of the tyrant’s vocalizer. His optics immediately sought out Sunstreaker, and as the lights finally brightened a pathetic amount, revealed Megatron’s amused expression.

Probably spurred by the fact Sunstreaker was glaring daggers at him already, his field washing the room with barely bridled anger.

Megatron, always so eager to remind them of their power imbalance, merely blanketed the whole room with _his_ field, completely drowning out Sunstreaker’s. His brother had the middle finger to give again, though whatever else he might’ve wanted to say or do, it was completely interrupted by another wave of agony that had his helm slamming back against the berth. At least he managed to silence his vocalizer at the last second, even if it was clear to the whole world he was beyond _in pain._

Megatron didn’t show any concern as he walked closer. “As it should,” Flatline reported. “Both Sunstreaker’s spark and that of the sparkling are staying strong and their readings are beginning to mingle less.”

“Are you in pain?” Shockwave asked, and when Sideswipe glanced up, he could see the scientist’s single optic staring at him.

Sideswipe shook his helm.

“Sit on the berth,” he was instructed. Sideswipe didn’t immediately, freezing in place before stealing one glance at Megatron.

The warlord nodded at him lightly, so with just a bit of hesitation, Sideswipe sat on the edge of the berth next to Sunstreaker’s. Shockwave walked over to him and he could feel scans on him, before he was asked to part his chestplates and bare his spark.

Gee.

But when Megatron didn’t show any signs of not being fine with the whole thing, Sideswipe did that much and tried to ignore his discomfort when Shockwave scanned him some more, then _plugged in_ without even asking for permission. Sideswipe stiffened at that and Sunstreaker growled in warning—as entirely not dangerous as his brother was at the moment—but Shockwave remained as impassive as ever, and neither Flatline nor Megatron reacted either.

So. Alright. At least Shockwave didn’t do anything _weird,_ just poked around at his readings and other such stuff.

And then he was given permission to close his chest back up, and Sideswipe did that quickly enough that the parts _clanged_ together near-painfully. 

Of course, then Shockwave jacked into Sunstreaker, asking no permissions for that either. His brother immediately shot to sitting, very intent on telling the cyclops where the hell he could shove it–

But naturally the sparkling had other ideas and his brother curled in on himself instead, his vents seizing before it ended and Sunstreaker collapsed back onto the berth.

Shockwave gave no reaction and just went about examining Sunstreaker’s systems while he was still trying to gather his bearings.

“I am _not_ opening my chestplates for you,” Sunstreaker growled as soon as he had enough of his wits about him again, glaring at the scientist. Shockwave stared back at him, forever expressionless.

“Noted,” was all he said.

“How are you feeling?” Megatron asked, and where Flatline stayed out of the reach of the wicked claws he’d personally given both of them, neither Megatron nor Shockwave had any such concerns. Megatron stood right next to the berth Sunstreaker was resting on, his optics passing along his frame.

“How the slag do you _think_ I’m feeling?” Sunstreaker growled back at him, his glare passing between Shockwave and Megatron and considering the smarts of attacking either one of them. Or, both of them. That would work too. _“You_ try severing a bond and see how it fragging well _feels.”_

“I see you got your looks changed a bit as well,” the tyrant said, completely disregarding Sunstreaker’s grumping. 

“Flatline did that,” Sideswipe told, preening just a little bit. If Sunstreaker wasn’t so aggravated—and in pain—he would’ve probably done the same, because there was nothing disapproving about Megatron’s look.

More just _appreciation._ “It suits you,” he noted and Sideswipe full on grinned this time around.

Sunstreaker wasn’t as impressed, but when was he ever. “It fragging well _better._ You'd be even more of an idiot if you thought otherwise,” he scoffed, shuddering as another surge of pain rocked his core. They were definitely coming closer and closer together. Did that mean it was going to be over soon?

Sunstreaker could only hope so.

“What will it take to teach you some _manners?”_ Megatron growled at him, and in pain or not, Sunstreaker only needed a moment to gather himself before he was back at it, even angrier than before due to the constant distractions. 

“I’ll show you slagging _manners._ If it wasn’t for _you_ and your fragging hots for me, I wouldn’t even slagging _be_ here.” 

“If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be languishing with the _Autobots._ Is that what you want?”

“I sure as pit don’t want to give birth to your spawn!”

They were glaring at each other. Sideswipe swung his legs idly, watching the fireworks between them. There was some decided _heat_ in the space that separated them, and he couldn’t help grinning at it.

Luckily, neither paid him any mind. Flatline continued to stand in the background, very much minding his own business, and Shockwave might’ve as well been dead for all he reacted to any of this. 

“Fear not, you’ll be over _that_ soon and then you’ll be free to do whatever your spark _desires,”_ the tyrant snarled after the quiet had lasted for a moment. It was said so _carelessly,_ and that was the deal, wasn’t it? Megatron had said he’d cut them loose after the sparkling had separated, and that moment was here now.

So… They were so very close to freedom. And they were on Cybertron already. What was stopping them from just leaving the compound after, from disappearing into the eternal night of the planet? They wouldn’t even be stuck on any organic mudball!

Then why did Sunstreaker take holy offense? “You _fragger,”_ he hissed, pushing himself to sitting despite the ache in his core and swinging his legs over the edge of the berth. Flatline made an aborted motion like he wanted to stop him, but thought better of it. Sideswipe didn’t really feel like getting in the middle of that, either.

So let the scene play out uninterrupted. “You come into my goddamn life, give no fucks about what _I_ want and just blow a hole straight through it–” Sunstreaker continued, and it looked a hell of a lot like he was actually planning to drop down to stand next to the berth. That couldn’t possibly be a good idea, “–fragging, leave me _sparked,_ then tell me what the slag to do about it. You made me come this fucking far, and then it’s just, _what? All the same_ what I do after you have the sparkling?” his brother growled.

“Wasn’t that our agreement?” Megatron asked simply. Sunstreaker’s engine _roared_ in response, and despite his pain, he did indeed drop off the berth entirely.

And just as Sideswipe had suspected, _it wasn’t a good idea._ Sunstreaker’s legs buckled the moment he tried to put weight on his pedes, and he would have fallen onto his knees if _Megatron_ hadn’t caught him, supporting his weight as easily as you could expect from a mech of Megatron’s size and strength.

You bet that didn’t make his twin any happier. Sunstreaker growled from frame and vocalizer both, but it was also clear that his focus was beginning to slip and there wasn’t really any fight he put up when Megatron hauled back onto the berth and eased him to lay down on it.

Sunstreaker’s vents were heaving almost nonstop, and no matter how ferocious his glare was, it looked like he was a little beyond acting on his anger. “I fragging _hate you,”_ he still ground out, because Megatron just had to be reminded of that little fact.

“We can talk about this more _after_ you’ve delivered our sparkling,” Megatron growled right back at him, his glare no lesser than Sunstreaker’s. They were locked in their staring contest up until a particularly strong rip in Sunstreaker’s spark had him tilting his helm back with an uneven rev of his engines. He closed his optics tight and Sideswipe dropped off the berth he was sitting on and closed the distance between them in a step, laying his servos on Sunstreaker’s arm. He could see the tension in every line of his twin’s frame, and Megatron was watching the situation as raptly as everyone else. Even Flatline dared step closer now that Sunstreaker was thoroughly distracted and not quite as likely to lash out, at least not at him.

Megatron might’ve still needed to worry about that a bit, if the tyrant had given a damn about any amount of damage Sunstreaker could land on him—in his current condition, anyway. 

“Almost done here, it looks like,” Flatline noted. Sunstreaker barely heard him, too focused on the splitting agony in his spark that didn’t let up now, like it had every time before. Instead it just built upon itself until his vocalizer spat static, his claws sinking into the berth to ground himself on _something._

Then it _snapped,_ the whiplash of it now enough to travel into Sideswipe too. He flinched in time with Sunstreaker arching clean off the berth, and Sunstreaker would have screamed right then if his vocalizer hadn’t already given up.

Instead there was just more static.

And just as quickly as it came, it ended. Sunstreaker collapsed back onto the berth and Sideswipe carefully removed his claws from the grooves he’d accidentally dug into his twin’s arm. He’d hear about that later for sure.

Sunstreaker’s optics were slow to open, but eventually they did as their spark tried to recover from the shock of a severed bond. The fullness receded too as the sparkling, now free, slipped from Sunstreaker’s spark chamber and into its own one that waited in the little frame below it. Everyone waited tensely, and Sideswipe kept a very close eye on the notifications his twin had on his HUD. One in particular, logging the sparkling’s progress with settling into its own frame.

It took a while, but after a few moments it reported everything was set and ready.

“Frag,” Sunstreaker breathed, but that was the hardest part all done, right? The rest… Sunstreaker parted his chestplates and let them slide to the sides. Sideswipe peeked inside, at the altered configuration in his chassis that came from an expanded gestation chamber.

That chamber was the one Sunstreaker now cycled open in accordance with the prompt on his HUD. Sideswipe stared, mesmerized, and even Sunstreaker’s optics flicked down, as much as he wasn’t in an angle to see a thing himself. 

But it was enough that Sideswipe could appreciate the intricately overlaid plating of a protoform in its alt-mode, except this one in a kind of miniature size.

“Go on, pick it out,” Flatline encouraged. Sideswipe glanced up, unsure who he was talking to, but it turned out that didn’t matter because Megatron was the one to make the move. Surprisingly Sunstreaker didn’t start growling and complaining when the tyrant slipped his claws into his brother’s internals and carefully scooped up the ovoid.

Sideswipe abandoned his brother’s side in favor of circling around the berth to Megatron, optics still locked on the little thing that housed the spark Sunstreaker had carried all the way here. Megatron lowered his servos enough that Sideswipe could get a proper look at the little protoform resting on them.

Flatline took out a cloth, and after asking for Sunstreaker’s permission, went ahead with wiping his gestation chamber clean of the remnants of the protoform mass that had been coded into this thing, but Sideswipe ignored that as he ignored the following process of transforming the chamber into its bunched up, unused state, and returning all of Sunstreaker’s internals into their right place. All that.

The ovoid was far more fascinating, especially when its plating began to shift, back and forth first, a little unsure, testing things out.

Then it found its bearings and transformed all the way into its bipedal mode, ending up sprawled on Megatron’s servos. Its optics opened to reveal little red lights, and it was the warlord that its gaze first landed on. It blinked up at him, but when Sideswipe grabbed a hold of Megatron’s arm and rose on the tips of his pedes to see better, he got its attention.

It blinked at him too. “Welcome to the world, you unnamed little thing,” he crooned.

The sparkling thought for a moment before _burring_ back at him. Sideswipe laughed, glancing to the side when Sunstreaker cautiously sat up, still more than a little sore after that whole ordeal. He was looking at the sparkling too, and although his look was curious, it was also unfeignedly neutral. 

Megatron didn’t look a whole lot different, honestly. 

And Shockwave was over there being Shockwave, but Flatline stepped up to them. “If you’d let me check up on it,” the medic requested. Megatron lowered the sparkling to his reach, and after first scanning it, Flatline pulled out a hardline cable. The sparkling considered him before tilting its helm forward to give access to the medical port at the crook of its neck. Flatline plugged in and did his thing, focusing on it quite intently by the empty look in his optics.

“Unusual coding, but that’s to be expected with an internally coded frame,” he noted. “It looks like its coding _is_ keeping it from accessing its emotional cortex fully.”

“Where did that come from?” Sideswipe asked. “I thought that portion of Sunny’s glitch was physical?”

“His coding has probably adapted around it, and that got passed onto the sparkling. Though, ah…” Flatline focused back on the physical world enough to glance up at Megatron, “it could have come from you, too.”

Megatron didn’t take offense, luckily for everyone. “What does it cause, exactly?” he asked instead.

“Trouble expressing emotion, most likely. Empathy issues. Nothing untoward or serious; it’s not harmful.”

The Autobots would’ve probably called that _bad enough,_ but Megatron merely nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer. So what if the little one was messed up from the get-go as long as that didn’t harm it, right? Though Sideswipe suspected that issues like that might rather come bite anyone _around_ the sparkling, rather than the sparkling itself.

But time would probably tell that much.

“Give him here,” Sunstreaker growled the moment Flatline unplugged, his twin gesturing for the little one. Megatron raised an optical ridge at him, but nevertheless handed the sparkling over. Sunstreaker picked it up from the tyrant’s servos, careful of his claws against anything they could have damaged if applied wrong, and brought their creation up for inspection.

The sparkling stared back at him, unwavering despite the intensity of the look Sunstreaker was giving it. This was what he had created. With some help. The unplanned little accident that could have gotten snuffed at the very beginning, had they chosen otherwise when they noticed its existence.

Instead it was here now, in its own little frame, as its own little person. 

Sunstreaker clicked at it.

The sparkling clicked back at him.

“Sideswipe, you could feel the moment of separation?” Shockwave suddenly asked, completely tone deaf to the moment, but Sideswipe looked up from the first proper meeting between the sparkling and its carrier. The scientist was staring at him again.

“Yeah?” Sideswipe ventured, and if he’d expected Shockwave was hungry for some more knowledge…

“I have some questions and readings to take.”

…Then he was right.

“Uh… Sure?”


End file.
